An Untoward Circumstance
by mydearlizzy
Summary: When Miss Lydia Bennet is attacked on the road to Meryton on the morning after the Netherfield Ball, suspicions arise on all fronts. Was it a local tradesman's son? Highwaymen? Are the militia men responsible, or will they be the ones to apprehend the murderer? And why has the Netherfield party run off to London the morning after their ball? Truly, a most untoward circumstance...
1. Chapter 1

Chapter One

The morning after the Netherfield Ball was bright and chilly, merely the tiniest layer of frost dusting the ground and sparkling in the morning sun. On such a day, one would usually find Miss Elizabeth Bennet rambling the woodland trails that littered her father's estate and the surrounding countryside. This morning, however, the only person up and about was Mr. Bennet. Having been used to keeping early hours for many years, he found that not even a night of frivolity and social fatigue could keep him abed past six o'clock. And so it was the Mr. Bennet found himself cloistered up in his study with merely his estate business and a few Greek poets to keep him company, reveling in the morning peace.

It was another two hours before his peace was disturbed by quiet footsteps on the stairs. He smiled – that would be Lizzy on her way out for a morning walk, no doubt. Checking the clock on the mantle, he nodded. She'd be back in good time before the rest of the house awoke and wanted breakfast. He returned happily to his Epicharmus.

Half an hour later, soft footsteps and a slightly louder rap on his door startled Mr. Bennet from his comedy. Jane, perhaps?

"Come in," he called.

Elizabeth's dark head of hair appeared in his doorway.

"Good morning, Papa," she greeted him cheerfully. "I wondered if I might borrow a book?"

Mr. Bennet raised his eyebrows but nodded. "Of course, Lizzy. That was a very quick walk for your daily constitutional. Too chilly for you this morning?"

Elizabeth entered the room fully, shaking her head. "No, I wasn't feeling up to a walk this morning. I thought to enjoy a good comedy before breakfast to prepare myself to take Mr. Collins' antics in the best of spirits. Have you any recommendations?"

Mr. Bennet pointed her in the direction of a comedy he didn't think she had read yet, the English translation of course. Much as he loved encouraging Elizabeth's sharp mind, he did not think many men would be interested in marrying a woman who knew Greek. (And to think that Mrs. Bennet thought he cared nothing for his girls' prospects!)

"Thank you. I'll see you at breakfast, papa," she said, offering him a quick kiss and a smile before dashing out of the room, closing the door carefully behind her.

Mr. Bennet smiled fondly in her absence. Maybe he should reconsider teaching her Greek – if she couldn't find a husband who would tolerate it, he would be happy to have her company in his fading years. Lord only knew she was the only one in this house that didn't drive him mad at one point or another.

He returned to his book, resolving to keep the Greek in mind. It might be a good challenge for her in the long winter months.

An hour later, one of the maids appeared at the door to announce breakfast, and Mr. Bennet reluctantly parted from his book with a sigh. He pushed himself to his feet, wondering when it was that his limbs had become so achy in the cooler weather, and straightened his shoulders in preparation for what was sure to be a hectic breakfast with much discussion of the Ball. Ribbons, lace, and dancing! Good God, would it never subside?!

Mr. Bennet settled himself at the head of the table and reached for the toast, hearing a clamoring upon the stairs which signaled the arrival of his many-feathered and be-ribboned flock. He took a sip of the strong coffee and braced himself. And so another day begins…

"Oh, Mr. Bennet!" Mrs. Bennet exclaimed even as she entered the breakfast room. "What a success our girls were! I'm sure it is all anyone is talking about!"

"Good morning to you, Mrs. Bennet," he greeted her wryly. "Sleep well?"

"Oh, lord, but what does it matter how I am sleeping? Much better to ask Jane, for I'm sure she hasn't slept a wink for thoughts of her beloved Bingley!"

"I slept very well, thank you, mama," Jane demurred with a soft blush, approaching her father to greet him with a kiss. "Good morning, Papa. Is Lizzy down?"

"Good morning, Jane. I believe she's in the drawing room, although I'm sure she'll be in momentarily."

Jane smiled and settled herself, helping herself to what was left of the food after Mrs. Bennet, Mary, Kitty, and Mr. Collins had taken their shares.

"Is Lydia with her?" Kitty asked around a mouthful of roll. "She usually lies abed much later than I do, but I expected she must have gone for a walk to Meryton with Lizzy as her pelisse was gone."

Mr. Bennet furrowed his brow. "Lizzy did not walk this morning, but perhaps she saw her."

"Saw who?" asked Lizzy, entering the breakfast room with a slightly distracted look about her. So distracted that she did notice the way that Mr. Collins sat up straighter and followed her with his eyes. Mr. Bennet, not so distracted, did notice, and wondered slyly when he would have the pleasure of the most ridiculous proposal to ever grace the halls of Longbourn.

"Your youngest sister seems to have disappeared," he advised her with a sly smile. "Have you come across her this morning?"

Lizzy shook her head. "No, I daresay it has been a very peaceful morning," she said to her father with a twinkle in her eye. He chuckled, but Jane gave her a chiding look which soon turned her contrite. "Which is to say that I have been alone in the drawing room all morning, seeing neither hide nor hair of any creature, much less Lydia. I thought she would still be abed?"

"So thought we all," Mr. Bennet agreed, musing. "What can she be up to?"

"Lord, Lizzy, I hope you have not got Lydia hoodwinked into your silly walks now," Mrs. Bennet fretted. "I should not like to see her wandering about the countryside by herself!"

"Healthful activity ought to be encouraged in all young ladies," Mary contributed, "for idle hands are the Devil's playthings."

"Lord, Mary, it isn't even ten o'clock!" Kitty sighed. "Can't it wait until after breakfast?"

"Well, I don't like Lydia being out on her own this early in the morning! And missing breakfast! She'll lose her figure! Hill! Hill! I need you at once!"

Mrs. Hill bustled into the room, gracefully hiding her exasperation. "Ma'am?"

"Mrs. Hill, send a few of the boys out to look for Miss Lydia. She went out for a walk this morning, we think, and I should like her home for breakfast."

"Of course, ma'am." Hilly offered a small curtsy and backed out of the room.

"Now, Mr. Bennet, did you notice how many times Mr. Bingley danced with our Jane last night?"

"I am sure I did not," he sighed.

The rest of the breakfast passed with relative normalcy – much speaking of dancing and ribbons and lace, some censure of Mrs. Long's nieces and the continual grievance of the Lucas' plain daughters' fates, some sermonizing from Mary, some huffing and complaining from Kitty, much fawning from Mr. Collins, and yet … surprisingly, there were no glances of shared enjoyment with his Lizzy. Mr. Bennet looked at her in wonder, noting the embarrassed flush in her cheeks and her downcast eyes, observing her flinch when her mother or sisters said something particularly inappropriate. What a change! Had something happened last night for which Lizzy had cause to be embarrassed of her family? Had he missed something?

Before he could muse too fully on the matter, however, Mr. Bennet was much diverted by Mr. Collins clearing his throat and requesting of Mrs. Bennet, none too subtly, the privilege of a private audience with Miss Elizabeth. Mr. Bennet felt he ought to be offended that it was not his permission which was asked, but he hardly had time to be offended before he was bustled out of the room with little ceremony. Elizabeth's expression shared a border between surprised and horrified, and Mr. Bennet couldn't help finding it a little bit amusing. It was certain that Lizzy would never accept the foolish man, and Mr. Bennet would never permit such a marriage anyways, so it would merely be another amusing story to entertain him on the dull days. Oh, and Mrs. Bennet would get into such a flap!

It was as he was debating whether or not Mrs. Bennet would need to call her salts that such an event occurred as to safely put the matter to rest – one of the young boys that ran errands in the kitchen came running into the hall through the front door, yelling Mrs. Hill's name.

"Mrs. Hill! Mrs. Hill! I found her, I found her!" he shouted. Mrs. Hill came running from the kitchen, clearly alarmed and not yet aware of the family lurking by the breakfast room door.

"Whatever do you mean, boy? Where is she?"

"Dead," he gasped, hands on his knees. "Miss Lydia is murdered!"


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

_It was as he was debating whether or not Mrs. Bennet would need to call her salts that such an event occurred as to safely put the matter to rest – one of the young boys that ran errands in the kitchen came running into the hall through the front door, yelling Mrs. Hill's name._

"_Mrs. Hill! Mrs. Hill! I found her, I found her!" he shouted. Mrs. Hill came running from the kitchen, clearly alarmed and not yet aware of the family lurking by the breakfast room door. _

"_Whatever do you mean, boy? Where is she?"_

"_Dead," he gasped, hands on his knees. "Miss Lydia is murdered!"_

Mrs. Bennet didn't even have time to call her salts – she fainted on the spot, dropping straight to the hall floor, and Kitty wasn't far behind – she pressed against the wall and slowly sank to the ground as her legs proved unable to sustain her weight. Mr. Bennet put a hand to the wall and stood silently, his other hand going to his heart as though to grab it and pull it out. Elizabeth, having just opened the door to see what the fuss was about, took a step back and paled before realizing that Jane was quite close to swooning as well, so stepped forward again to grasp her elbow. Mary covered her mouth with her hand. Mr. Collins observed their countenances with a high degree of bemusement.

Mrs. Hill, although similarly shocked, now noticed the family. She paled even further.

"Where Johnny? Where?"

"On the side of the road to Meryton, just behind the trees by Farley Grove. Lord, ma'am, but she looked …"

"Johnny," she whispered. "Go to the Lucases and bring Sir William. Run! Quick as you can!"

The boy disappeared, his face set determinedly in spite of his wheezing breaths.

"Mr. Hill!" she called directly. She disappeared into the kitchen, seeking her husband. The Bennets could distantly hear her directing her husband to go immediately to Farley's Grove, and to bring a sheet to cover the body. The Bennet family remained stationary in the hall, unable to move. The shock was written on all of their faces. No one moved, not even to make Mrs. Bennet more comfortable.

Mr. Collins shifted uncomfortably.

Mr. Hill entered the hall with his coat on, collar turned up, a sheet hanging over one arm and Mr. Bennet's work coat hanging over the other.

"Mr. Bennet, sir," he said quietly, putting a hand on the elderly gentleman's elbow. "I must ask you to come with me."

Mr. Bennet looked up at him, seeming to realize for the first time that there were other people in the area. His eyes were wide, and his mouth gaping sadly.

"Of course," he mustered hoarsely, "of course. Let me get my – oh, thank you, John. Thank you." He shrugged into his overcoat, seemingly stooped from the weight of it on his shoulders. "Girls …" he paused, unable to bring either words of comfort or instruction. He sighed heavily, instead, and gave Mary's arm a squeeze as he walked by, leaving the ladies of the house and Mr. Collins in the door of the breakfast room as he shuffled out into the frosty November air to go and see his dead daughter.

This movement, however, seemed to rouse Elizabeth, who quickly took stock of the situation. Her mother, unconscious on the floor. Kitty, barely less so. Jane, pale with fright and grief. Mary, shocked and ramrod straight. And Mr. Collins. That detestable Mr. Collins.

"Mr. Collins," Elizabeth addressed him at last, bitter to have to ask any favors of such a man, "please fetch a few of the groomsmen to come attend to my mother."

Surprisingly, he needed no further encouragement or instruction. He stumbled a bit on his way out, but he made not a sound.

"Mary, please help Kitty to your room," she instructed gently, placing a gentle hand on her arm to gain her attention. "I will send up some tea for the two of you shortly."

Mary seemed to want to ask why she should go to her room rather than to Kitty's own room, but Elizabeth watched cogs begin working … soon Mary's realization of the fact that Kitty and Lydia shared a room showed in her eyes. She nodded her understanding solemnly, assisted Kitty to her feet, and disappeared upstairs with one arm wrapped in a surprisingly tender fashion around her younger sister. Elizabeth then turned to Jane, whose hand was now at her head. She opened her mouth to say something to her older sister, but was interrupted by a footman from Netherfield. He came into the hall from the kitchen, clearly looking for someone to whom he could deliver a message.

"Begging your pardon, Miss, but there was no one in the kitchen, and I was told to see that you got this immediately," he said bashfully. Jane dashed forward to take the letter, relief written all over her face. She opened it quickly and began to read voraciously. As she read, all of the blood drained from her face. She stumbled, and the footman reached forward to grasp her elbow and help steady her.

"Oh, Lizzy! Lizzy!" she cried, distraught. "It is too much! Lydia dead, and Charles gone! Oh, Lizzy!"

Her sister burst into tears and crumpled, with the footman still supporting her in spite of the shock on his face. Elizabeth rushed to grab Jane's other elbow, truly concerned now that nothing would spare Jane from fainting. Two such awful shocks at once were surely too much for anyone.

"Would you please assist me in helping my sister upstairs?" she requested of the footman. "There is no one else in the house at the moment with the time."

The footman assented. Together, they got Jane up the stairs and into her bed, where the young woman curled up and sobbed uncontrollably. Elizabeth escorted the footman out.

"The Bingleys have left Netherfield?" she asked him for clarification, as the note was still crumpled tightly in Jane's white-knuckled fist.

"They have," he confirmed uncomfortably. "Just this morning. I'm to ride to London this evening with the last of their particulars."

"So gone for good," Elizabeth spoke softly, stunned at the sudden break. How could Bingley do this to Jane? What did it mean? What could be his motivation?

Realizing the footman was feeling particularly uncomfortable, Elizabeth apologized and led him to the door. "Thank you for your assistance. I apologize for the scene. We have just discovered … my sister … my youngest sister … has been … murdered." Elizabeth gasped even as the words escaped her throat, tears burning her eyes as the words made it seem such a reality. "Please forgive our dissemble. I am afraid such news for dear Jane of her belov – of our friends was one shock too many this morning."

"I – I'm so sorry to hear, Miss Bennet," said the footman, stunned at the news. "May I assist you in any way? May I call someone for you?"

"No, no, thank you," she demurred. "Although … you say you are to London? Today?"

"Yes, ma'am, this evening."

"I wonder if it would be too much trouble for you to bear a message for me? Our dearest relatives live in London, in Cheapside, and we must send word to them."

"I should be happy to be of any service to you, ma'am."

"Please, wait here just a moment!"

Elizabeth dashed into her father's study quickly to write a hasty note to her aunt and uncle, notifying them of Lydia's death and begging their immediate assistance. Once the note had been signed, sanded, and sealed, she addressed the front with the address and rushed back to the hallway.

In the hallway, she found the footman assisting Mr. Collins and one of their own footmen in carrying Mrs. Bennet upstairs. She followed them silently. Once Mrs. Bennet had been deposited on her bed, Elizabeth turned with further instructions.

Firstly, she handed the note to the footman along with a few coins from her father's desk and sent him on his way. Secondly, she asked about the state of the house staff – the footman informed her that every able bodied man was combing the woods for the murderer, and that he himself was only on loan to help Mrs. Bennet and must return immediately. Elizabeth granted this easily, and encouraged Mr. Collins to join the men. He looked as if he would protest, but Elizabeth's face was very grave, and the footman grabbed his arm and dragged him off before he could get a word in edgewise.

Finding herself again alone, Elizabeth returned downstairs to the kitchen. The only people there were two of the maids, Sarah and Emma, both of whom were sobbing into their aprons.

"Sarah! Emma!" Elizabeth called them when she entered. Her tone was sharp but quiet – just enough to start them out of their sobs. "I need your help, immediately."

The girls jumped to their feet.

"We," Elizabeth took a deep breath, "must make tea. Mary and Kitty are in Mary's room, they will need tea and some scones, please. Mama is abed and will need tea, and please send up her salts as well. For Jane and myself, please deliver tea and scones to Jane's room. Whatever you do, do not disturb Kitty and Lydia's room."

The girls nodded their understanding, eyes downcast and swollen.

"Sarah? Emma?"

The girls looked up slowly.

"Once you have served tea upstairs, please begin brewing as much tea as you can, and keep it hot. I imagine that it will be wanted when the men return from the search. And please help yourselves to as much tea as you need. I think … I think we will all need it."

The girls nodded and curtsied. Elizabeth offered them a small smile before departing the kitchen once more. She meant to go up to Jane's room and offer comfort. She could have gone to her mother's room to see if she was awake. She could even have checked in on Mary and Kitty. But she couldn't. Instead, Elizabeth sat down on a small settee in the hall, curled her legs up to her chest, and buried her face in her skirts.

It felt like she couldn't breathe. Because of the skirts or because of grief, she could not say. She couldn't breathe, and she wondered if Lydia had been strangled. Had she not been able to breathe? Either way, she would never breathe again. That thought dragged Elizabeth's face up from her knees, and she looked the ceiling with tears streaming down her face and her chest heaving with deep breaths. How could she be dead? How? The little girl that was so full of life and vivacity – too much of it, sometimes! The girl that only last night had flirted and danced and humiliated her family but had so much fun doing it! In a way, it was comforting to Elizabeth that Lydia's last night had been so delightful. Much as Elizabeth had been embarrassed … Lydia had spent her last night on earth having the time of her life. Surely that thought could help to carry them through.

But the thought of never seeing Lydia again – never hearing her raucous laughter, never hearing her footsteps on the stair, never hearing her complain about her bonnets, never arguing with her over her reputation or chastising her for her flirtatious ways …

Elizabeth was lost to herself for several long minutes, heaving and sobbing silently. Her mouth was open in a silent wail, a wail which could not break free from her throat. The only sound she could make was a high keening noise and the occasional gasp. She had never imagined … no one had ever imagined …

At long last, Elizabeth heard the creak of the kitchen door, and she jumped to her feet, wiping her face with her sleeve to dispose of the evidence of her breakdown. Sarah and Emma, coming out of the kitchen each with a tea tray, spotted her and nodded quietly, keeping their eyes down. They carried on without a word. Realizing there would be one more tray in the kitchen, Elizabeth returned there to pick it up. Relieved, she noted that it was the tray prepared for her and Jane – Jane's favorite apple scones were there, as well as the lemon Elizabeth preferred in her tea. Grateful, Elizabeth picked up the tray and carried it upstairs. She ducked into Jane's room, finding her sister unmoved although now crying quietly rather than sobbing. She set down the tray on the table by the fire and then went to her sister's bed.

Climbing up onto the bed with her sister, Elizabeth lay down with a heavy sigh. The two sisters looked at each other for a moment, each with grief in their eyes. At last, Jane reached out and wrapped her arms around her sister, curling her body to Elizabeth's side and tucking a sodden cheek onto Elizabeth's shoulder. Elizabeth embraced her in return, allowing quiet tears to slip down her face – some into her sister's hair, and others dripping down the side of her face, tickling her ears and dropping onto the pillow with soft _thwump_s.

They lay there for a long moment, grieving together for their annoying, beautiful, exuberant sister.

"I can't believe she's gone, Lizzy," said Jane at last, sniffling through the sentence. "How is this possible? Who could do such a thing? To poor Lyddie?"

"I don't know, Jane." Elizabeth's voice broke for a moment. "I don't know. I can't even … imagine. It's too awful."

"I wish …" Jane sighed, "I wish Charles were here. I know that sounds selfish, and I know that I don't have the right, but I can't believe he's gone when I need him."

Jane's tears began again, and Elizabeth comforted her as best she could.

"Jane, dear, come sit by the fire and have a cup of tea with me," she said at last, pulling her sister upright and pulling a handkerchief from her pocket to wipe their faces. They moved to the chairs by the fire, poured the tea, and slowly sipped at their drinks together. The peaceful scene did not well reflect their inner turmoil – the fire's light created shadows in their eyes which echoed their grief, but no words could be spoken until they were each on their second cup.

"Mama was very … disconcerted," Jane said at last. "I'm sorry I wasn't any help. Is she well?"

Elizabeth shrugged. "As well as I expect she can be. As far as I am aware, she has not yet woken, and I am not eager to hasten that event. We have never … none of us have ever experienced such a tragedy, and I know not how she will fare."

Jane nodded. "And poor Papa. I thought … I must confess, I thought that we would lose him today as well when I saw his face."

Elizabeth's eyebrows furrowed in concern. "Yes. I thought so as well. He was not well. I worry for him, out in the cold air when he has been so distressed."

"Mary seemed to hold herself together very well."

"I expect she is still shocked, as we all were."

"And poor Kitty…"

"Yes, poor Kitty. I do not think … I do not think it would be wise for her to return to her room, for the moment. I may ask one of the maids to go in and remove a few of Kitty's personal items to Mary's room or mine. I do not think she will be able to sleep there again for a long time."

"Oh! I hadn't even thought! I suppose we still have one guest room available – mightn't we move Kitty there?"

Elizabeth shook her head. "No. I have sent a message to Aunt and Uncle Gardiner. I expect they will arrive within the week."

"Oh, good," said Jane, relief written all over her features. "I am so glad. Lizzy, you have thought of everything! You are being so strong, so brave!"

"No, Jane," Elizabeth smiled sadly, "I am being busy, to avoid facing what we all must. I am a coward of the worst sort."

"No, Lizzy," Jane insisted in return, her voice gentle but determined. "You are very brave, and you are very good. You are the best of sisters, and the best of friends, and my greatest source of comfort. Family fails us, friends …" she took a deep breath, "friends falter, but you, my dearest Lizzy, you have ever been my rock."

They shared a warm, pained smile, and then each returned to their tea, staring into the fireplace unseeingly as they whiled away the time until … they knew not what.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"_I am so glad. Lizzy, you have thought of everything! You are being so strong, so brave!"_

"_No, Jane," Elizabeth smiled sadly, "I am being busy, to avoid facing what we all must. I am a coward of the worst sort."_

"_No, Lizzy," Jane insisted in return, her voice gentle but determined. "You are very brave, and you are very good. You are the best of sisters, and the best of friends, and my greatest source of comfort. Family fails us, friends …" she took a deep breath, "friends falter, but you, my dearest Lizzy, you have ever been my rock."_

_They shared a warm, pained smile, and then each returned to their tea, staring into the fireplace unseeingly as they whiled away the time until … they knew not what._

Mr. Bennet stood on the edge of Farley's Grove, leaning heavily against a tree for support in bearing the weight of the world on his shoulders. He felt, today, much older than his sixty-five years.

He rubbed his face, unsure if he was trying to warm his hands or his cheeks but certain that neither was working. Everything was numb. The sight of his little girl, his obnoxious, adorable child, spread out on the hard, frosty ground was too much to bear. To see her skirts torn, her bodice ripped, her hair mussed, her clothing bloody from both her head wound and other … injuries … Dear Lord, it was too much for an old father to handle. She had always looked so much like Fanny – so beautiful, but so spoiled. Carefree in both the best and the worst ways, innocent to the ways of the world – entirely too innocent, he sometimes thought. Now he regretted it - regretted ever wishing such knowledge upon her. It was clear that, in her last moments, the ways of the world would have been all too clear to his daughter.

He wondered, momentarily, how Fanny and the girls were doing. When he had left them, he had been too numb to truly take stock of the state of the rest of his family. Fanny had fainted, he thought, and he hoped someone had seen to getting her to bed. Kitty, he imagined, was similarly distraught. He hoped Jane, Lizzy, and Mary were holding it together well enough and taking care of things at home. It might be a long time until he got back to Longbourn.

"Afternoon."

Mr. Bennet looked up at the familiar voice, surprised to see his brother-in-law at the scene. Mr. Philips had been heading up the search in Meryton, from what Mr. Bennet had last heard. He was dressed for the weather, but didn't look much warmer than Mr. Bennet felt.

"George."

"Thomas."

"They haven't found him yet."

"No. No, they haven't."

"No suspicions?"

"Not yet. Colonel Foster is doing a full inspection of his men, including searching the barracks. If it was one of the militia, we'll find out. Rumour has it that the party from Netherfield Park departed rather hastily this morning, especially considering they ought to still be recovering from hosting the biggest ball in Hertfordshire. Off to London, they say, and closing up the house."

Mr. Bennet raised an eyebrow. "George, I most certainly believe that Mr. Bingley has … seriously disappointed my eldest daughter, but you can't seriously be suggesting that he had anything to do with my Lydia?"

"I'm not suggesting anything," Mr. Phillips said slowly. "I'm merely letting you know that the timing of their departure has led to a few raised eyebrows around the neighbourhood. News of murder travels fast, and any suspicious circumstance is likely to quicken doubts in many minds. Sir William may call them back for questioning, although being gentlemen of such high order … I rather doubt anything would come of it, even if they did have something to do with it."

Mr. Bennet scowled, put off by the idea that justice could not be served for his daughter if her attacker was of a higher class. Even so, however, he could not bring himself to believe Mr. Bingley capable of it. Mr. Hurst would never step foot out of the house. As for Mr. Darcy … well, he was certainly dour, but Mr. Bennet didn't think that equated to murderous.

"Well, do what you believe you must. I will not object to that party's return, although I may have a few words with Bingley regarding my Jane. By all means, bring them back. In the meantime, however, I would like to return to my wife and daughters. What has the doctor decided to do with … the body?"

Mr. Phillips straightened, sympathy in his eyes. "He'd like to examine it further, upon Sir William's request. He's sent to Meryton for a cart. Go home, Thomas. I'm sure Fanny is in a state, and your remaining daughters need you."

"Yes," Mr. Bennet sighed. "My remaining daughters, indeed."

"I'll come by when there is news. Do let me know if you would like me to send Margie over to sit with Fanny. I'm sure she'd be happy to do such a service, if your girls aren't up to it."

"Thank you, George."

"Thomas."

The men shook hands firmly, and Mr. Bennet began to the trek back to Longbourn. They had left in such a hurry that there was no time to prepare the carriage or horses – faster to walk. Mr. Bennet could not regret it, for now he had a chilly half-mile walk to give him time to recover himself before entering a house full of, he was sure, very bewildered and upset women. He dreaded to think.

Mr. Phillips quietly beckoned one of the local boys – one too young to partake in the search for a murderer, but too keen to stay away. He put a coin in his hand.

"Follow Mr. Bennet and see that he gets home safely," he ordered him, "and there will be more where that came from. Keep your distance – the man is distraught."

The boy nodded, his face brightening at being given something to do, and dashed off after Mr. Bennet. He found a good distance and kept near the trees, and Mr. Phillips nodded, satisfied. The last thing the Bennets needed now was for the patriarch to have a heart attack on the side of the road.

* * *

By the time Mr. Bennet reached the house, he found it remarkably still. None of his girls were about, nor could he hear any noises from upstairs – not a creaking floorboard, much less wails of despair. He heard some quiet bustling in the kitchen, and he chose to check in on that first. Besides, he could do with a cup of tea.

After depositing his greatcoat in the hall, he let himself into the kitchen. Within, he found two of the kitchen maids working feverishly sewing black dresses, and Mrs. Hill stood over the fire tending to various food items. They looked up when he entered and stilled.

"Mrs. Hill," Mr. Bennet greeted her wearily. "Could I trouble you for a cup of tea?"

Mrs. Hill went immediately to the ready-made pot of tea to pour him a cup, and Mr. Bennet accepted it gratefully. He sipped it quietly for a minute, letting the hot drink seep into his system and warm him all the way through to his fingers.

"Mrs. Hill," he said at last, "dare I ask how my family fares?"

Mrs. Hill handed him a scone and nodded. "Mrs. Bennet is abed, but has not yet regained consciousness. Miss Jane and Miss Elizabeth are in Miss Jane's room taking tea, and Miss Mary and Miss Kitty and are Miss Mary's room, also taking tea. Miss Elizabeth has requested that we temporarily move Miss Kitty to Miss Mary's room, and we have begun to rework some mourning clothes. Miss Elizabeth also informed me that she has taken the liberty of sending a message to the Gardiners to request their presence. As she instructed, we are keeping some tea and scones warm for the men when they are finished with the search, and I have taken the liberty of making some stew as well."

"Mrs. Hill, you are sent from heaven to aide us in this time." He offered her a weak smile. "Very good of Lizzy, taking control. Good idea to send for the Gardiners. Did she send it by express?"

"Sir, she did not say."

"Ah, well. Likely not." He drained his cup and slowly got to his feet. "Well, Mrs. Hill … I believe I will take a moment to myself in the study. Let me know if there are any changes."

"Yes, sir."

Mr. Bennet retreated to his study, closing the door behind him and walking directly to his liquor tray. He poured himself a brandy and settled into his favourite armchair. He noted that the book he had been reading that morning, his comedy, was sitting on the side table with bookmark well in place. It amazed him, really, to think that this morning he had been reading so peacefully in his study, laughing at the follies of others, as his daughter had slipped so innocuously past his door to meet her death.

Mr. Bennet buried his face in his hands and wept.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

"_Well, Mrs. Hill … I believe I will take a moment to myself in the study. Let me know if there are any changes."_

"_Yes, sir."_

_Mr. Bennet retreated to his study, closing the door behind him and walking directly to his liquor tray. He poured himself a brandy and settled into his favourite armchair. He noted that the book he had been reading that morning, his comedy, was sitting on the side table with bookmark well in place. It amazed him, really, to think that this morning he had been reading so peacefully in his study, laughing at the follies of others, as his daughter had slipped so innocuously past his door to meet her death._

_Mr. Bennet buried his face in his hands and wept._

It was only just past noon when the search party arrived back at Longbourn – a motley crew of soldiers, townsfolk, farmers, and footmen. Every male between the ages of fourteen and sixty within a ten mile radius had been out hunting, but all had come back hungry and empty-handed.

Mrs. Hill served them tea, scones, and stew, and she made more when the first round was gone. Mr. Bennet came out of his study to briefly make the rounds, thank the men for their efforts, and to hear from all parties that nothing had been discovered before retreating once again to the sanctuary of his study.

Elizabeth, the first of the four Bennet daughters to be outfitted with mourning clothes, came downstairs to help serve the men and thank them personally. She couldn't decide if she felt more frustration or sadness, but she knew that they looked at her with both pity and interest. Elizabeth supposed being the sister of the only girl to be murdered in Meryton was quite an interesting status.

"Miss Elizabeth, you should be resting," Sarah whispered to her as they crossed paths on the lawn, Sarah serving stew and Elizabeth handing out scones.

Elizabeth shook her head firmly. "No, Sarah, much better for me to be busy. I would rather work than think."

Sarah gave her a sad look.

"I quite agree, Lizzy."

Elizabeth looked up, surprise written all over her features, to see Jane standing next to her, dressed in half-mourning because there was not enough material in the house for more black gowns. Her eyes, though sad and still rather red, held a determined air. She reached out and took the stack of bowls and spoons which Sarah was balancing in one arm.

"Please, allow me, Sarah." Her request was certainly more of a command. "I must be busy."

Elizabeth could hardly argue, nor could Sarah (although she looked as if she would have dearly loved to protest), and so Jane began to pass out bowls and spoons in front of Sarah. When she ran out, she went back for more. When all of the men had bowls and spoons, she went back to refresh teacups. Elizabeth followed her with milk and sugar.

"Thank ye, miss."

"God bless ye, miss."

"Blessings, child."

"The peace of God."

"God grant you peace."

"Mercies, miss."

Every man thanked them kindly, young and old. Jane and Elizabeth smiled and nodded, not realizing that each man spoke to them as if afraid that one wrong word would break them. Much as they were trying to keep themselves occupied with work, their wits were not what they were the night before.

When all of the men were fed, they spoke their condolences and disappeared one by one into the distance. At long last, Jane and Elizabeth stood alone on the lawn with Sarah, Emma, and Mrs. Hill bustling around them to pick up bowls and spoons from the ground. The sisters put an arm around each other and watched the last of the volunteers disappear, the late afternoon sun seeming too bright against the darkness of their clothing and their hearts.

"Come, Lizzy," Jane said at last. "Mrs. Hill sent to Meryton for black cloth. Let us see to making our family presentable."

And so the two sisters returned the house to begin their project, glad to have another project to keep them busy and helpful, wondering when it would be safe to rest and think without the sharp stings of grief overwhelming them.

Neither girl expected it to be soon.

* * *

Bingley sighed heavily, resting his weight against the mantle of the fireplace in a typical Darcy brooding pose that surprised his friend. Darcy had not planned on dining with the Bingleys tonight, having just spent the past few months in their company, but then he had also not counted on Bingley's morose, inconsolable demeanour on finding the rest of his party returned to London as well. He seemed rather more affected than he usually was by these pretty women of his – Darcy inwardly congratulated himself on removing his friend from the situation before it became worse.

"Darcy, I feel that we have been too hasty in removing from Hertfordshire."

Darcy's eyes sharpened. Regret. It happened every time.

"If you had seen her again, you might not have been able to leave. You would have been trapped in Hertfordshire, Bingley – either by the roads, or by the lady's conniving mother. Your sisters only have your best interests at heart."

It felt like they had been arguing for days rather than a mere hour. Bingley's shock at his party following him to London, coupled with his embarrassment of the party's ill-mannered leave-taking, had completely done him in when combined with the man's tumultuous feelings after Darcy had revealed his thoughts on Bingley's "angel."

"But to leave without saying good-bye … after I paid her such particular attention …"

"Charles, it is not your fault if her mother raised the expectations of the neighbourhood."

"Darcy, it is not the neighbourhood that I am worried about," Bingley countered sharply. Darcy was taken aback by his friend's tone. He hadn't spoken so sharply to him in … well, ever. "I am concerned for the young lady whose heart has become very dear to me. You say she cares nothing, and yet … I do not know that I am convinced. How did you see it? How did you see her disregard when I did not?"

"Love is blind, they say," Darcy replied stoically. "She seemed happy to see you, but she never seemed happier than she was to see anyone else. She gave the same smile to everyone."

"Well, you give the same scowl to everyone, but I don't like you any less for it, do I?" Bingley teased, only a very slight note of bitterness entering his voice.

Darcy sat up in his chair, concerned by the increasing displeasure he heard in his friend's tone. He had never seen him so affected. This would be harder to break than he thought. As he prepared himself to robustly defend his judgment, however, a quick knock on the door interrupted. A footman entered, dusty from the road and clearly exhausted, with a clear concern in his eyes.

"Sir, begging your pardon," he said, slightly out of breath. "I have news from Meryton, and Miss Bingley was not to be disturbed."

Bingley perked up. "Yes? Did you deliver Miss Bingley's note to Miss Bennet?"

The footman paled. "Yes, sir. That is my news. The note … that is to say, when I delivered … sir, I don't know where to begin."

Both Darcy and Bingley were quite bemused by the young man's words, but concerned by the pallor of his face.

"Come in," Bingley said. "Sit down. Begin at the beginning."

The footman looked wary of sitting down in the gentleman's study, but did so reluctantly. He took a deep breath.

"Well, sir, I took Miss Bingley's note to Longbourn after ten o'clock, as Miss Bingley said. When I arrived, there were no servants in the kitchen. Point of fact, sir, there wasn't nobody around at all. I thought of leaving it on the table, but Miss Bingley had said to see to it that Miss Bennet got the note immediately … well, I thought it might not make it to her on time."

He hesitated, clearly seeking Mr. Bingley's approval of his reasoning. At his nod, he continued. Darcy turned his face away, preparing himself mentally for some Shakespearean recital of Miss Bennet's swoons which were no doubt intended to send Bingley running back – certainly orchestrated by Mrs. Bennet, certainly scoffed at but not interfered with by Mr. Bennet, and no doubt a source of great amusement to the rest of the family … except his poor, mortified Elizabeth. Certainly.

"So I went into the hall, and I found the two eldest Misses Bennet in the hall with Mrs. Bennet, who was gone fainted on the floor, with nobody else around. I delivered the note, as you said, and the Miss Bennet … she done nearly fainted herself. Miss Elizabeth asked me to help her get Miss Bennet upstairs, as there warn't nobody else around, so I helped her above stairs and we got her into bed, and she done curled up and started jus' … cying. Crying like I ain't seen nobody cry before."

The footman seemed to be falling more and more into his accent as he spoke, losing his careful diction in the midst of the emotional retelling. Bingley, himself, had gone pale and taken a seat. Darcy was not surprised. Shakespearean indeed. Were they to kill Hero to bring the heartfelt return of Claudio?

"When we left the room, Miss Elizabeth apologized to me, and she tol' me … she tol' me that Miss Lydia had been found murdered, jus' this morning, and that two such awful blows were enough to see any lady to hysterics. Well, she didn't say that exac'ly, but … yeah. An' I asked, I asked if I could do anything to help her, and she asked me if I could deliver a note for her to her relatives in London, as I 'ad already tol' her that I was a'comin' up here tonight. So I waited for her while she went to the study to write her note, and while she were gone, a vicar and a footman came in to move Mrs. Bennet above stairs. I helped 'em, and by the time we was done, Miss Elizabeth 'ad finished her letter. I asked if I could do anymore, but she said no. I didn'a wan' to leave 'er tha' way," he said with very real emotion in his voice, "bu' the lady had nothin' lef' for me, an' she sen' me on my way. She was … she was right distressed, Miss Elizabeth was. They all were."

The expressions on the faces of the men in the study were flickering rapidly between shock, sadness, concern, regret, and anger. Bingley stood and began to pace, while Darcy buried his face in his hands. Darcy's unkind thoughts of mere moments before now seemed not only vulgar and unjustified, but cruel in the Miss Bingley sense of the word – in faith, a quality he had never aspired to possess.

"Have you delivered the note to the Bennets' relatives?" Mr. Darcy asked, as Mr. Bingley seemed too far in thought to take action yet.

"No, sir. I wanted to inform Mr. and Miss Bingley first."

"Good," Mr. Darcy said. He caught Bingley's attention by standing and putting a hand on his shoulder. "Charles, might I make use of your writing desk? I believe that we should extend our assistance to the Gardiners."

"No," Bingley said sharply, startling Darcy with his emotion. "No, Darcy, I shall write to the Gardiners. And I shall leave for Hertfordshire tomorrow, whether you and my sisters come with me or not." He paused, straightening and staring Darcy in the face with a cold emotion in his eyes which surprised his long-time friend. "You were wrong about her, Darcy," he said coldly. "I only hope she will be able to forgive me and my family for our ill manners. Please excuse me."

Bingley sat down to his writing desk, and Darcy, offended by his friend's uncharacteristic rebuff of his assistance, stalked out of the room.

The footman's eyes darted between the door and the desk, and he uncertainly left the room.

It appeared that Mr. Bingley had a temper after all.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter Five

_ "No," Bingley said sharply, startling Darcy with his emotion. "No, Darcy, I shall write to the Gardiners. And I shall leave for Hertfordshire first thing in the morning, whether you and my sisters come with me or not." He paused, straightening and staring Darcy in the face with a cold emotion in his eyes which surprised his long-time friend. "You were wrong about her, Darcy," he said coldly. "I only hope she will be able to forgive me_ _and my family for our ill manners. Please excuse me."_

_ Bingley sat down to his writing desk, and Darcy, offended by his friend's uncharacteristic rebuff of his assistance, stalked out of the room._

_ The footman's eyes darted between the door and the desk, and he uncertainly left the room._

_ It appeared that Mr. Bingley had a temper after all._

The setting sun on the eve of the twenty-seventh of November found Longbourn unusually quiet. Mrs. Bennet, although having awoken from her faint some hours ago, had yet to make a sound. She stared blankly at the walls, the curtains, the sheets, but responded to no one. Mrs. Hill had managed to coerce her into taking some tea, but all other offers had since been met with stony silence. Mrs. Bennet's grief was telling in its quiet, and unnerving in its stillness.

The strange silence of Mrs. Bennet was as disconcerting to Bennet family as Lydia's absence – the house seemed empty. Mary sat at the piano-forte, listlessly pressing minor chords as quietly as possible, her expression thoughtful. Kitty sat in the window seat, staring out at the road to Meryton with tears making new tracks down her cheeks as soon as the previous tracks had dried. Jane and Elizabeth sat by the fire, industriously sewing new mourning clothes out of the black cloth as they had been doing all afternoon. Mrs. Hill and the servants had tried to intervene, but Jane and Elizabeth had insisted on having some share of the work. Mr. Bennet was, once again, in his study.

Elizabeth rubbed her eyes wearily, exhausted from staring at thread and needle all afternoon and evening. She leaned back against the sofa, closing her eyes with a sigh. Her lone sigh seemed to let loose the emotions of the entire day, and suddenly the sisters must have conversation.

"Who would do it?" Kitty demanded suddenly, her voice cracking with the first words she had spoken all day. Fresh tears swept clean trails down her face. "Why? Why would anybody do that to Lydia?"

"Oh, Kitty," sighed Jane, setting down her work and holding out a hand to her little sister – was she so little? Kitty rushed to Jane's comforting embrace, burying her curly head into Jane's steady shoulder with deep, shuddering sobs wracking her body. "I do not know who, and I do not know why, but I'm sure that whoever it is will be brought to justice – if not by the hands of men, then by the hand of God."

Elizabeth moved to sit on Kitty's other side, rubbing her back in a regular, soothing motion. She wished she could add something, but what more was there to say?

Mary left the piano and came to stand by them, looking uncomfortable – as if she wanted to join them, but didn't know how. She hovered hesitantly.

Elizabeth scooted over, opening up a small space on the sofa between herself and Kitty where Mary's slight build would easily fit. Mary took the seat gratefully, and allowed herself to be embraced by her older sister and comforted. Elizabeth was sad to realize that she could not remember the last time she had embraced Mary. They sat quietly for some time, each lost to their own thoughts.

"The last thing I said to her," Mary said softly, "the last thing I said was in stricture. I was angry with her for her behaviour at the Ball. I told her that I was ashamed to have a sister who would behave so flirtatiously with men, and I - I quoted Fordyce's Sermons to her, as if she cared! She called me an ugly, awful bluestocking, and we parted badly. I so wish we hadn't."

Elizabeth clutched her hand tightly.

Kitty reached out and held Mary's other hand, lifting her face from Jane's shoulder. "I was jealous of her. She had all of the attention last night, and she kept Denny and Carter all to herself, and I thought it was unfair. I argued with her, too, before we fell asleep. I just assumed we would make it all better in the morning."

"Let not the sun go down upon your wrath," Mr. Bennet said from the doorway, startling his four daughters. They turned to look, finding him leaning against the threshold with sombre regret shining in his own eyes. "We have all learned our lesson now, I expect."

He came into the room fully, joining them by the fire on the opposite sofa. He clasped his hands in front of him and looked at his girls very soberly, as though seeing them for the first time.

"Lydia was a quarrelsome child," he said, blunt in his honesty despite his soft tone. "We all had arguments with her. Feel the pain, feel the regret, correct your future actions, but do not allow such regrets to keep you awake at night. She knew, I hope, that we loved her."

Kitty scoffed, startling her remaining three sisters. "Lord, don't pretend like that's true!" she exclaimed, bitterness lacing her voice as she stood. "Don't act like you've always loved us all the same! We all know that Lizzy's the only one you can stand! La, you've never had the time of day for me or Lydia, or even Mary for that matter, and sometimes not even Jane, though she is the eldest! I don't think you even love Mama – you're awful to her! I don't believe you even miss Lydia – you're probably glad she's gone so that she can't bother you anymore!"

Kitty rushed out of the room, her face red and her tears flowing again, and the remaining Bennets could hear her footsteps fast upon the stairs. Mary also stood, although more slowly, giving her father a cool but sad glance as she also left the room, her silence confirming her agreement with her younger sister even as she, too, disappeared above stairs.

Mr. Bennet's face was frozen in shock. Of all of the things he had expected when he had entered the sitting room, that was not it. Tears, yes. Questions, yes. Accusations? Never.

Jane, looking pained, also stood. She placed a reassuring hand on Elizabeth's shoulder – poor Elizabeth, who looked so aggrieved by the spoken words … and yet, not surprised. Mr. Bennet's interest piqued.

Jane didn't need to speak for both Elizabeth and Mr. Bennet to realize that she was going upstairs to console, encourage, and reconcile the two younger girls. She disappeared, leaving Elizabeth and her father in a gloomy silence.

"You are not surprised by what Kitty said," Mr. Bennet observed quietly. He stared into the fire rather than look at his favourite daughter's face. Had he made his favour so marked? And if so, was there anything so wrong with that? Mrs. Bennet did so with Jane and Lydia. Could he not also have a favourite? Especially the one so often abused by her mother? Did she not need to be someone's favourite?

Elizabeth sighed. "No."

"How long has Kitty … and Mary … how long have Kitty and Mary felt this way?"

Elizabeth's laugh was sharp and slightly bitter, although tempered with sadness. "Oh, Papa!"

The silence reigned for nearly a full minute before Elizabeth could collect herself enough to speak. At last, she fetched a cushioned stool and settled it by her father's knee, placing her hand on his to soften the blow.

"Surely, Papa, you have seen the imbalance in our household which has been present since the day I was born," she remarked sadly. Her eyes were distant, unable as she was to look into the eyes of her dear father as she revealed to him the truth he was so determined not to see. "Mama has always favoured Jane for her beauty, and you have always favoured me for my intelligence – even over Mama. Why do you think Mama resents me so much? And why do you think she doted on Lydia so much? She does not care for her intelligent daughters because she assumed that you always would favour us. Except that Mary gets no consideration from either of you – from any of us. She has been allowed to live a solitary life in our busy household, the favourite of no one. And Kitty! Poor Kitty! She has been seriously neglected! Why do you think she has always followed Lydia so closely? Mama finds her trying, as do you, and as do Jane and I on occasion. Mary has never had patience for her."

Her rambling speech stumbled to a stop. She took a deep breath and released it slowly before continuing. "Last night, Papa," she mused, "I became so very aware of the impropriety of our family. I do not know why it struck me so last night – perhaps because I knew that Bingley's relations and friends were so carefully scrutinizing us, because it was so important to make a good impression. We didn't." She laughed a little bit despairingly. "Mama gossiped loudly, making inappropriate comments all evening without any check. Mary displayed herself inappropriately, and even when you corrected her, you did so with such … snideness, such lack of concern for her feelings, that the entire room felt her embarrassment. Lydia and Kitty ran wild, chasing officers and drinking heavily, with not so much as a reprimand from either of their parents – and those two, as well, being the youngest girls in the room!"

Elizabeth shook her head sadly. "I know … I know that you did not mean to neglect them so awfully, that you were merely seeking peace in the household … but was there not another means of achieving peace? Could not education have improved their minds, manners their conversation, and a father's love their need for attention?"

In another life, another time, Mr. Bennet may have dismissed his daughter's concerns. The idea of fighting his wife for the right to educate his daughters had never truly crossed his mind – he had done so with Lizzy from the beginning, but that because she was always so clever and made her mother so cross that she would be sent to her father's study for punishment. Said punishment, the reading of books, soon became a pleasure and a refuge. There had never been a reason, he thought, to bother with the others – if they were not interested, why should he press them into a task which should make them so unhappy? And the idea of correcting his wife – absurd! It would require a change in personality, in character, in morality – a Herculean feat, to be sure! To waste that time (for certainly, it would be wasted) was unpardonable in a man busy running an estate and seeing to his own education and interests.

Ah, and there was the rub. Mr. Bennet sighed and removed his spectacles to rub the bridge of his nose. He had been seeing to his own interests. For the past twenty years, his own interests had been of primary concern. When was the last time he had concerned himself with the interests of his family? Perhaps never, truly, except when they coincided with his own. Suddenly, such priorities seemed innately selfish and ungentlemanly. He recalled, once, when his brother Gardiner had sought to make him aware of such a thing – Mr. Bennet had dismissed the man's words on the basis of family interest. Surely the man was only concerned because his sister was a foolish woman and he was only just realizing it! And yet … he wondered, now, if there hadn't been a deeper interest and a more honest concern.

Whilst Mr. Bennet was lost in his thoughts, Elizabeth had set herself by the fireplace, staring into the hearty flames with a distant, concerned expression. As he noticed her, he wondered how much of a burden this had been on her. He wondered if she had known all along, and if it had made her miserable. He wondered if she felt responsible.

"My dear child," he said, his voice hoarse from emotion, "was your childhood a terrible one? Have I made you miserable?"

"Papa," Lizzy said solemnly, turning to look at him with dark eyes, usually so warm but now made eerie by the still tears and the flickering reflection of the fire. "It is not _my_ childhood which need concern you."

* * *

Whilst Elizabeth Bennet confronted her father in the glow of the evening fire, and Jane attempted to cajole Mary and Kitty to reconciliation, and Mrs. Bennet lay in bed staring blankly at the ceiling, their nearest relations in London were only just receiving the news.

The children had already been sent to bed, and Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner were enjoying a rare quiet moment together in the parlour. The fire was crackling happily, the tea was still hot, and they had another hour of blissful peace to look forward to before they, too, must retire. Mrs. Gardiner was about her embroidery, and Mr. Gardiner his books, when the knock came upon the door. Both were startled. 'Twas but a moment before a message was delivered to the parlour, and they were informed quite calmly that the servant was waiting for a reply.

"Now, whatever could that be about?" Mrs. Gardiner wondered aloud, setting aside her embroidery to watch her husband read the note. There was a second letter enclosed within the letter, and Mr. Gardiner's eyebrows raised when he unfolded it.

"Does that not look like Lizzy's hand?" he asked, showing his wife the enclosed note. Mrs. Gardiner's brow furrowed, creating lines across her still youthful forehead.

"Indeed, it does! What can it mean?"

Mr. Gardiner read, his brow furrowing more with each passing line. "Why, it is from a Mr. Bingley! Did not Jane or Lizzy mention a Mr. Bingley in one of their letters?"

"Yes – it was certainly Lizzy, for she said that Jane was half in love with the man, and she seemed to quite approve of him – a first, I think, for one of a Jane's suitors to have Lizzy's approval. Jane, of course, didn't mention a thing about him besides his name."

"He requests the hasty reading of the enclosed letter and, if we so desire, his assistance in whatever way possible. Apparently he is to Hertfordshire on the morrow, after completing one or two particularly urgent business matters in the morning, and would be glad to be of assistance to us if we should also like to travel there. He waits upon our convenience!" Mr. Gardiner hastily unfolded Lizzy's letter.

Mrs. Gardiner watched with bated breath. She held her self-control quite admirably until a sudden tear escaped one of her husband's dark eyes – she rose hastily, hurrying to kneel by his side and put a steadying hand on his arm.

"Darling?"

"It's Lydia," he croaked, rubbing his mouth with his free hand. His eyes were still scanning the missive furiously. "She's dead."

Mrs. Gardiner collapsed on the floor in an uncharacteristically graceless heap. She stared up at her husband with shocked eyes, disbelief and grief warring for dominance.

"Lydia! Dead!"

"Murdered, Lizzy says. She writes very quickly – they only just heard the news, and Thomas went to see … Dear God, I dread to think! She writes that the house is in an uproar and begs we come at once, and to please bring the children if we think it wise – she thinks they may be of assistance to Jane and Kitty."

"Is it wise?" Mrs. Gardiner mused softly. "To expose the children to such a thing! And yet … they must know someday, and I am sure they would be a great help to Jane. She does dote on them."

Mr. Gardiner at last looked up from the letter and took notice of his wife's position. He held out his hand, and she took it. They sat in silence for a few moments, each lost in their own thoughts and grief. As much as they had found Lydia tiresome, they had always found their niece endearing in her own way.

For Edward, in particular, she reminded him so very much of Fanny when she was younger – back when her head was full of romantic dreams rather than the bitter reality of five unmarried daughters and the future hedgerows. He had loved that Fanny. Oh, his elder sister had driven him mad more times than not, but he had always enjoyed her better than Margie. She at least had a better sense of humour. To think of what this would be doing to her! She had always been so sensitive – no doubt she was bedridden. Thomas, of course, was in no state to help her, and certainly her daughters, dutiful though they were, would be too lost in grief to be of assistance. Margie tried, but … she wasn't the person that he would want at _his_ bedside nursing him back to health.

"Maddy, darling," he spoke tenderly to his wife, "we must to Longbourn. Tomorrow."

"The children?"

"I believe we ought to bring them. Lottie and Meg will be able to help the girls, and I think it would help Fanny to see some little girls again. As for Freddy and Benny … they can always bring a smile into the room."

"I shall arrange it."

"How soon tomorrow may we leave?"

Mrs. Gardiner thought for a moment, her brain taking longer than usual to process the information in light of the recent news.

"I shall need some time to acquire mourning clothes, and to put the house in order. Is noon too late?"

"No," Mr. Gardiner said thoughtfully, "no, noon should be perfect. It will give me time to settle affairs at the offices. This Mr. Bingley has offered his assistance – I believe we will take him up on it."

Mr. Gardiner pushed himself out of his armchair and held out his second hand to his wife. She leaned heavily on him as she stood, unaccustomed to being on the ground. Although only three and thirty, Mrs. Gardiner felt rather older. To think that she should live to see her niece murdered! At only fifteen!

"Sit down, Maddy," Mr. Gardiner encouraged her, leading her to the settee. "I must write a reply. Shall I send in Mrs. Morris?"

"No, dear, thank you," she waved him off with a strained smile. "I simply must … breathe, for a moment. Come back soon."

He gave his assent with a fond kiss on her forehead before he made his way to his study. Mr. Gardiner was a man of careful priorities. His only nieces had captured his heart a long time ago, before Madeleine was even a part of his life. For a very long time, those darling girls had been his greatest joy. While Madeleine and his own children now gave him the greater joy, he still felt a very strong sense of responsibility towards his sister's family. God only knew what a mess they were right now, and Edward prayed that he could find a way to be of assistance. As he penned his reply to Mr. Bingley, he wondered whether or not he would have to play the role of guardian and chaperone for Jane and her suitor – Thomas would be in no state to do so, nor would Fanny, and there was a little part of him that, despite the circumstances, revelled in the opportunity.

After all, someone had to see about getting those girls properly married!


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter Six

_Mr. Gardiner was a man of careful priorities. His only nieces had captured his heart a long time ago, before Madeleine was even a part of his life. For a very long time, those darling girls had been his greatest joy. While Madeleine and his own children now gave him the greater joy, he still felt a very strong sense of responsibility towards his sister's family. God only knew what a mess they were right now, and Edward prayed that he could find a way to be of assistance. As he penned his reply to Mr. Bingley, he wondered whether or not he would have to play the role of guardian and chaperone for Jane and her suitor – Thomas would be in no state to do so, nor would Fanny, and there was a little part of him that, despite the circumstances, revelled in the opportunity. _

_After all, someone had to see about getting those girls properly married!_

The evening following the murder of Lydia Bennet was the worst of Mr. Bennet's life. On any other night, the peace, solitude, good liquor, and warm fire would be enough to create contentment even after the harshest days in the Bennet household. This night, however, trumped all. Mr. Bennet found himself staring into the dying fire for long hours, absorbed completely in his oscillating emotions. He lingered in self-loathing, skirted around the edges of his guilt, and belaboured the mystery of Lydia's attacker. His thoughts drew him into the past for the first time in many, many years, as he wondered what had led them to this point.

Where did it all go wrong? The beginning years of their marriage had been as beautiful as any other – he, nearly forty, and she, nearly twenty, had settled happily at Longbourn. She had dragged him around to all of the social events, and he had enjoyed teasing his beautiful, kind, rather silly wife. When had it become sarcasm? When had it become so sharp? And then came the girls – first Jane, the sweet girl who followed around her mama with adoring eyes and helping hands, and Lizzy, the fiery spirit with a thirst for knowing why and for logic. That thirst had seen her sentenced to the library, where Mr. Bennet had begun to spend more and more time as Fanny became absorbed in household and maternal tasks. They had kept on trying for a boy, but with each failure (for indeed, he had seen each successive child as a failure) he had become more and more withdrawn, dreading the chaos involved in the raising of five pretty but enthusiastic young girls. Oh, he had enjoyed their little comedies! He took pleasure in watching them come running home with some new treasure from the woods, but there were only so many rocks and leaves in which he could feign interest. There was so much to do for the estate, and when the day was done all he wanted to do was enjoy a relaxing evening … but there was no such thing as a relaxing evening when Fanny and his five daughters were in the picture.

When had he given up? When had he stopped trying? He couldn't even recall. There wasn't a moment when that decision was made – it was a thousand little moments. It was all of the arguments he didn't start, all of the questions he didn't ask, all of the sarcasm he used in place of honesty. It was in every dismissive comment, every raised eyebrow, and every derisive snort. Dear God … how had it all come to this?

Was this a punishment from God? Was this the hand of God striking against him for his negligence? Was his family to bear the weight of his sins?

Tomorrow, he knew, the search would begin in earnest. He would find the man that killed his daughter. And when he found him … yes, when he found him … perhaps he would understand why.

* * *

Mr. Bingley paced his study anxiously, waiting for Mr. Gardiner's reply. He was eager to be gone. Truthfully, he still could do with a couple more days in town to finish his business, but he expected to be able to finish the most urgent matters in the morning. And then to Netherfield, to Longbourn, and to Jane.

Mr. Bingley fisted a hand in his already mussed hair, feeling more impatient to be at Longbourn than at any other point since his … infatuation? … with Jane Bennet began. In truth, he could hardly tell what it was. He had been infatuated before, this he knew – it was part of his character to fall in and out of love easily. Bingley knew it, Darcy knew it, Caroline knew it … it seemed as though everyone knew it.

But Jane Bennet was not like the other girls with whom he had fallen in love before. Certainly, she had beauty, charm, grace, and all of the usual appealing factors. However, she did not carry a never-ending list of accomplishments as other women did, and whatever few accomplishments she did possess, she spoke of them modestly, demurring to others.

In truth, Bingley believed that was what drew him to her – her kindness. For it seemed to Bingley, from what little he had seen and known of Jane Bennet, that the lady's greatest strength (and perhaps also weakness) was her enormous kindness to others. He saw it in her modesty, in the way she extolled the virtues of others over her own. He remembered that first night at the assembly when he, struck with her beauty, had asked for her hand for a dance and found himself stunned not, as expected, by her beauty, but rather by the kind words she had for all of Meryton. Most women, when given the opportunity to introduce a young man to new company, would place a few well-chosen words of wisdom in the man's ear to warn him of such-and-such a lady – dreadful conversationalists, appalling dancers, fortune-hunters, gossip-mongers, or even merely which of the shopkeepers in town would charge the most exorbitant rates. Not Jane Bennet. Given the opportunity, Jane Bennet spoke of the friendliness and hospitality of the Lucas family, of the shopkeepers who offered fair prices and kind words, and of the families in town that she was sure he would love once he met them.

His sister would certainly consider such a thing to be a sign of weak judgment, but Bingley couldn't see it as such. He knew too few people who were genuinely kind to be able to dismiss such a quality as insignificant. He strove to be kind, to be nice to everyone. He sometimes wondered if it truly served him well, but when he was with Jane Bennet … well, he felt that there was nothing in the world more important. They shared the same values. Surely that mattered more than money or manipulative mothers!

Or manipulative sisters, for that matter.

Bingley turned his thoughts to the actions of his relatives over the past few days – the past few months, really. While Louisa and Hurst were much as they ever were, blasé and disinterested, it seemed that Caroline had taken a turn towards the vicious. Was this a new quality brought out by her fear for his future as well as her own, or was this a quality which had been around for a while but only recently brought to his notice? She was sweet to Jane most of the time, but she was dreadful towards the Bennet family as a whole, especially Miss Elizabeth. Caroline was only kind to those she considered worthy of her time – and even then, not always. In point of fact, Bingley didn't think that she even considered her own brother to be worthy of her time. If he didn't need someone to keep house for him … well, sometimes it was tempting to tell her to go and set up her own establishment. But surely that was too harsh …

He could. If he proposed to Jane … well, he and Jane would be setting up their own home. And they would have to have a wedding trip, of course – a month of travel would be a lovely break. Of course, it need not be forever! If she called Jane sister, surely then Caroline would cease such ridiculous censures!

But why had she followed him to London? Why had she closed up Netherfield without so much as a by-your-leave? It was _his_ estate! (Or, at least, it was for the next ten months.) He had informed them that he would be back after a few days – why then would they find it acceptable to follow him? Did they truly think that was what he wanted?

No. But since when had it mattered what he wanted? It had to be about what they wanted – Louisa, Caroline, it was always about what they wanted. And, for that matter, Darcy. Darcy couldn't stand the company in Hertfordshire. They didn't want to stay there, and they knew that Bingley could hardly put up a fuss if they closed up the house and insisted on celebrating the holidays in town.

Well, too bad. He had other plans for his holidays. If Jane Bennet really wanted nothing to do with him … well, he'd deal with that. But he had to hear it from her. He would have felt guilty enough leaving without saying a proper good-bye, but when her sister had just been murdered …

Who could have murdered Lydia Bennet? Honestly, the girl wasn't the easiest to manage, but … murder? He'd never heard of such a thing – a gentleman's daughter, murdered! He couldn't think who, or why. It was unimaginable.

Perhaps he could be of assistance. He could help Mr. Bennet lead the search. And perhaps, in a few months, when the loss wasn't so fresh … perhaps Jane would see him as a man worthy of her kindness. Not that she didn't already … but … well, he wanted more than just her kindness. He wanted her love. And he thought that he could, perhaps, win it. But to do that, he had to be there. And now was the critical moment.

Why wasn't he there?

* * *

Mr. Darcy stood in his study, leaning against the mantelpiece and staring unseeingly into the fading flames. None of the servants dared come in to tend the fire – not when he had stormed into the house an hour ago with a dour glare and flashing eyes.

He was offended. More than he had been in years. Bingley had never spoken to him like that before – the abrupt dismissal of his assistance. Certainly, the news was upsetting. Of course, Lydia Bennet's death was tragic and horrible. But what had that to do with Darcy? The girl may have been the sister of Bingley's love interest, but surely that did not change the circumstances. Netherfield had been closed up – it would look very strange for Bingley to return by himself so quickly after closing the house. Rather than assuring Bingley of Miss Bennet's feelings for him, surely this must throw it into greater confusion. Certainly, at this time of emotional upheaval, both Bingley and Miss Bennet would be more than usually susceptible to the manipulations of Mrs. Bennet. Already too meek for his own good, if Bingley returned as planned he would be within the clutches of the Bennets by the time their period of mourning was complete.

How could he protect his friend from this when he was so unwilling to be protected? The man seemed determined to throw himself away to this country nobody – admittedly, a sweet girl, but no more so than any other lady, he was sure! Bingley could find a woman in town of similar beauty, kindness, and of a much more reputable family. Darcy hadn't found one yet, but … well, he wasn't interested in that type of woman, was he? He required something more substantial than beauty and kindness – wit, cleverness, vivacity …

Namely, Elizabeth Bennet.

Darcy pushed away from the mantle with a sigh and began to pace slowly before the fire. The more Bingley was around the Bennets, the more Darcy would be thrown into the company of the Bennets. He did not know that he could control himself if he were constantly in her company. He could not withstand temptation for long. Like Bingley, he would soon give in to the allures of the Bennet women. He could not afford to do such a thing. Nor could Bingley. He had only been trying to protect them both! Why did Bingley insist on putting himself, and his friend, in the way of fortune hunters?

A soft knock on the door was followed quickly by the soft click of the latch, and Darcy turned just in time to see the slight white figure of his sister slip into the study and close the door behind her. He raised his eyebrows, surprised. His sister rarely dared to enter his study, especially when he was in a mood.

"Georgiana?"

"May I come in, Willam?"

Darcy allowed a small smile at the name – a nickname born from Georgiana's infancy, when her childish tongue could not pronounce Fitzwilliam properly. It had stuck, but only with his most intimate acquaintances.

"Of course, Georgie," he agreed, beckoning to a seat by the fire. "What brings you to my study at this hour?"

Georgiana gave him a disbelieving look. "Willam, the servants are terrified to enter. What has put you into such a mood? What is the matter?"

Darcy raised both eyebrows at his sister's unusual forwardness. She had not been so when he had last seen her – although, admittedly, that was several months past.

What should he tell her? The truth, he supposed. But was such a thing suitable for her ears? Surely, this was one thing from which he could protect her.

"A small argument with Bingley, dear, nothing to trouble yourself about."

"An argument? With _Mr. Bingley_?" Georgiana gaped in an astonishingly unladylike fashion. "Surely not! He is far too amiable and pleasing a person to enter into such a thing!"

Darcy frowned at his sister's defense of his friend. Wasn't that his job?

"I assure you, it is true."

Georgiana frowned, studying him. "Why do you feel guilty? Surely it was not your fault. I cannot imagine it was Mr. Bingley's, either … was there some misunderstanding? I'm sure if it is, it will be sorted out shortly. Mr. Bingley is too kind to willfully misunderstand his friends."

Darcy had to stop himself from pushing a hand through his hair out of pure frustration. Georgiana never used to be this annoying – or this intuitive. Maybe Mrs. Annesley was far too good of a companion…

"Georgiana…"

"I – I could speak to him, if you'd like," she offered hesitantly, her eyes downcast. "Perhaps if I told him-"

"Told him _what_, Georgiana?" Darcy barked, unable to restrain his harsh laugh anymore. "I thank you for your consideration, but this is not a mere misunderstanding. He is angry with me – and, perhaps, justifiably so."

Darcy felt the bitterness drain from his body at the reluctant admission, and he dropped into his favourite armchair wearily, like a puppet whose strings had been cut. He had not truly realized his own guilt until he had confessed it to his little sister, a girl more than ten years his junior. A tidal wave of regret washed over him right along with the heat from the fire.

Georgiana could withhold neither her astonishment nor her concern. She rose quickly and knelt by his side, putting a comforting hand on his knee. "Oh, brother! I'm sure it cannot be! Mr. Bingley could never resent you for anything less than intentional cruelty, and I know you to be perfectly incapable of such a thing!"

Darcy sighed and shook his head. "If only I, too, had that confidence. Georgie, darling, I'm afraid you shall have to allow your brother some faults. In this case," Darcy frowned thoughtfully, "I believe I may have been very much at fault."

"I cannot believe it of you," Georgiana insisted. "You are too good!"

Darcy allowed her a small smile, placing a fond hand on her fair head. "No, Georgiana, it is you who is too good. I can claim no such thing, and I assure you that Bingley and … others … would heartily agree that I deserve not such merits."

"And others? Are you in contention with others as well? I thought you meant only a disagreement with Mr. Bingley!"

"In argument, only with Bingley; in contention, darling, I could name several."

The entire Bennet family, for a start – excepting Elizabeth. Strange how he consistently distanced her in his thoughts from her family, differentiating her lively features from those of her closest relatives with hardly a second thought. If Bingley were right about Jane Bennet … he supposed he would have to begin separating her as well. Even contrite as he now felt, he could imagine no astonishing event which could bring him round to enjoying the company of the entire Bennet family.

Once again, Darcy's conscience pricked him. Lord, when had he become so disapproving? His thoughts were uncharitable at best, and towards a family which had only recently lost their youngest daughter in a most horrific way…! Darcy gazed down at his sister's concerned face, appreciating her kind, honest soul and wondering what Elizabeth had loved about her youngest sister. Did she feel as protective of her as Darcy felt of Georgiana? God help her if she did! Did she ever sit with her sister's head in her lap, comforting her? Did that hapless child ever cheer Elizabeth on a cold winter's day with her less than well-mannered frivolity? When they were children, did Elizabeth lead her sister around by the hand and show her the very best trees in the garden, as Darcy had done for Georgiana? Did she read stories to her?

Darcy remembered vividly the day he had feared for Georgiana, that fateful day at Ramsgate, and the thoughts that had run through his head – memories of their life together at Pemberly, memories of all of the times he had failed her, memories of all of the times she had made him laugh. He remembered the wretched agony of wondering if he could save her from what he thought was a fate worse than death. Lydia was the same age, he was sure, that Georgiana had been when she had been so guilelessly infatuated with George Wickham. What if he had lost her then? Did Elizabeth feel those pangs now? He dared not imagine too completely his true pain in the event of losing Georgiana, that sweet girl that even now sat at his knee and sought to comfort him in his guilt. To think of Elizabeth, enduring so!

For the first time since leaving Hertfordshire, Darcy longed to return. He longed to rush back to Longbourn alongside Bingley and join him in comforting and courting those beautiful Bennet ladies. And why should he not? Why should he not return to Bingley's home at once, beg forgiveness, and accompany him in the morn to Hertfordshire? Why should he not return to offer comfort and, dare he suggest it, _love_ to the most remarkable lady he had ever met?

Of course, surely he was exaggerating his own feelings. Love was impossible – to even think it at this juncture was absurd to the extreme! He was not in love with Elizabeth Bennet. He pitied her circumstances, felt for her loss, admired her intelligence and her figure and her very fine eyes, but when it came down to it, he was not in love. He could never be in love with her. Even putting aside all considerations of wealth and status, the most convincing argument of all was kneeling beside him at that very moment, beholding him with the most trusting and empathetic gaze.

No, Darcy was certainly not in love with Elizabeth Bennet.


	7. Chapter 7

Chapter Seven

_Of course, surely he was exaggerating his own feelings. Love was impossible – too even think it at this juncture was absurd to the extreme! He was not in love with Elizabeth Bennet. He pitied her circumstances, felt for her loss, admired her intelligence and her figure and her very fine eyes, but when it came down to it, he was not in love. He could never be in love with her. Even putting aside all considerations of wealth and status, the most convincing argument of all was kneeling beside him at that very moment, beholding him with an ethereally trusting and empathetic gaze. _

_No, Darcy was certainly not in love with Elizabeth Bennet._

On the morning of the twenty-eighth of November, Catherine Bennet awoke in a strange room. She sat up quickly, alarmed, before noting the sleeping form of her elder sister beside her. With a relieved sigh, she sank back into the pillows with a hand over her quick-beating heart. Lord, she'd have to tell Lydia…!

And then she remembered. A wave of grief crashed over her, burying her once again in the murky depths from which it seemed she had only briefly escaped. With a soft gasp, Kitty rolled over to her side, facing away from Mary as she concentrated on trying not to cry. She felt like she hadn't stopped crying ever since she had heard, and she thought that surely she must run out of tears eventually … but she didn't. Lord, they kept on coming!

A sudden surge of anger coursed through her, driving back the tears for one sharp moment. She wanted to know who did this. She wanted to know who, and why, and how – she wanted to know everything, and then she wanted to make them pay. Jane may be able to leave justice to the hands of God, but not Kitty Bennet. No, Kitty would have her answers, and then she would have her vengeance, one way or another. Mercy and forgiveness were suited for timid creatures like Jane, not for Kitty. Surely Lizzy would agree – Lizzy was always the first to act, the intrepid one. She would help. Possibly even Mary. Surprisingly, Mary had yet to say a single word about forgiveness, mercy, justice, or any other appallingly godly strictures. Apparently Lydia's death had shocked the Fordyce right out of her, and Kitty was grateful.

She couldn't have shared a room with Fordyce. Not this week.

Beside her, Mary stirred. Kitty froze, holding her breath and praying that she had not formed her conclusions too quickly. It took Mary a few minutes to wake up – Kitty could hear the moment that she, too, remembered. The quick intake of breath sounded eerily familiar, an echo of her own. Perhaps they were sisters after all.

Resigning herself to dealing with her sister, knowing that she couldn't fake sleep nearly as well as Lydia could, Kitty rolled over and faced Mary at last. She was surprised to see silent tears making their way down her face. Mary wasn't the sort of girl who cried.

"I hated her, you know," Mary whispered, her voice still hoarse from sleep and thick with tears. Her eyes, dark and filled with emotion, stunned Kitty momentarily. She didn't know how to respond to that.

Mary rolled over and buried her head in her pillow, beginning to cry in earnest, leaving Kitty staring at her hunched back and long plait. They all used to plait each other's hair when they were small. Mary would always do Kitty's.

Kitty felt a rush of sympathy for her sister. Much as she ignored it, Kitty had always known that Mary was the odd one out in the family. She knew because it had always been between her and Mary which one would be the loneliest. Kitty had won – she had attached herself to Lydia. Mary had lost. And if there was one thing that Kitty understood, it was a bitter heart.

Surprising even herself, Kitty scooted closer to her sister and wrapped an arm around her waist. She settled her cheek on her sister's shoulder, and she curled up close. Mary's sobs shook her body, but Kitty held on. She held on tightly, trying to be an anchor in the storm, because she had always wished that someone would do the same for her.

* * *

Breakfast was a solemn affair. The Bennets had all been outfitted in black to mark the beginning of their period of mourning, lending a dark tone to an otherwise sunny morning. Mr. Collins had joined them at the breakfast table. He had, perhaps unsurprisingly, requested his meal served in his room last night. Seeing him this morning was grating on the nerves of everyone, particularly Elizabeth. Seeing him at the breakfast table brought back memories of the previous morning, his disastrous proposal, and of the … following events. Elizabeth wondered, briefly, if she would ever be able to sit at the breakfast table at Longbourn again without such memories destroying what remained of her appetite. Perhaps it would be wise, in future, to take her breakfast in her room … or out of doors …

The unresolved anger and resentment in the room did nothing to dispel the tension – Mary was silent, Kitty was cold, Mr. Bennet was quiet and remorseful, Elizabeth begrudged the presence of Mr. Collins, and Mr. Collins was still desperately hoping for a chance to speak to Elizabeth privately to continue to persuade her into matrimony. Poor Jane, caught in the middle of all of these frayed nerves and still rather forlorn herself, tried very hard to carry on a polite conversation about the weather, the roads, and what needed to be done over the course of the day. No amount of cheerful speech, however, could blow away the clouds from her eyes or brighten the pallor of her cheeks. In the end, breakfast was finished mutely.

As soon as breakfast concluded, Elizabeth donned her pelisse and escaped the house with Kitty to walk towards Oakham Mount. Although neither could stand staying within the confines of the house, neither were particularly keen to take a solitary walk in the woods either. However, before they had even reached the outskirts of Longbourn, Elizabeth and Kitty met Charlotte, Maria, and one of the Lucas' footmen coming down the path.

Upon recognition the girls rushed to greet each other, embracing with tears and genuine comfort. Charlotte and Lizzy exchanged a warm, strong embrace, full of mutual understanding and concern. Kitty clung to Maria, the tears already flowing, for quite a while. Once Kitty regained some composure, the four girls turned and walked together back towards the house.

Charlotte confessed that she had a difficult time leaving the house in the morning due to her father's reluctance to allow any of his girls outside of Lucas Lodge until the killer had been found, but he had relented once she had assented to the company of Maria and the footman. They speculated that no young woman in the vicinity would be walking out alone in the near future. Charlotte asked after her family, and Elizabeth could hardly speak. Sensing her friend's unease, Charlotte instead asked if there was anything she could do to help.

Elizabeth gave her friend a sad smile, and said with a little of the old Lizzy impertinence, "Only if you can discover some way of removing Mr. Collins from the house! I didn't get the chance to tell you – yesterday, at breakfast, he proposed to me. It was the most dreadfully embarrassing occasion!"

Elizabeth described the scene with her usual verbosity, although she was perhaps lacking in some of her typical humour. It was much easier, however, to speak of the ridiculous than to speak of the grievous. Elizabeth noticed Charlotte's expression as she neared the end of her story, and she was quick to defend herself before Charlotte could speak her mind.

"Please don't chide me today, Charlotte! I'm sure you have words regarding my behaviour and my refusal of Mr. Collins, but please … not today. I cannot bear it."

"Very well, Lizzy," Charlotte agreed, wisely keeping her thoughts to herself. "I shall change the subject of conversation completely. My father will be in this afternoon to speak with your father. He was meeting with Colonel Forster when I left – I gather there was some news from the regiment, or else they are planning a course of action."

"Good," Elizabeth declared firmly. "I shall look forward to hearing the news. May they find the man quickly and bring him to justice!"

Charlotte observed her friend's steely eyes and cool countenance with regret – those expressions were so unlike the warm, charming friend she had known since childhood!

"Dear Lizzy, are you sure there is nothing I can do to assist you at this time? Anything at all?"

Elizabeth smiled wanly at her friend and put her hand on her friend's arm, through which her own arm was tucked cosily. "Oh, my dear Charlotte – in truth, I hardly know! It has been such a shock."

They walked sedately for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

"How is Jane? I heard that the Netherfield party has left for London rather suddenly. I am sorry – I know what I said last night, but I did so want her happiness!"

Elizabeth well remembered Charlotte's words of warning against Jane's serenity and sedate countenance in the face of Mr. Bingley's attention, and she knew her friend well enough to take them in the spirit in which they were intended.

"Thank you, Charlotte. I know. She is as well as she may be at this time. I believe that she feels their disappearance very strongly, but you know Jane – she does not dwell, but keeps busy and cheerful as best she can. She is … coping. I blame that Caroline Bingley, but of course that is hardly our greatest concern at the moment."

Charlotte hesitated before saying, "There are rumours circulating regarding their abrupt departure."

Elizabeth's eyebrows shot up, evidencing her surprise at the news. "Surely they are not suspected! What else they may be I hardly know, but they are gentlemen!"

"I agree – I can hardly imagine such a thing! And yet, it is such unusual timing, and truly … which other man would you suspect? Until yesterday, I believed all the men of my acquaintance to be gentlemen in actions, if not in name. Now …" Charlotte trailed off, her worry furrowing her brow.

Elizabeth's reaction to Charlotte's suspicions had to wait, because at that moment they arrived at the house and were ushered in to the parlour to join Jane, Mary, and Mr. Collins. Elizabeth stood by the fire while Charlotte and Maria made their rounds, offering comfort and condolences all around.

Once they all had settled into seats near the fire, with Lizzy and Charlotte nearer the flames after having just returned from the chilly outdoors, Charlotte opened conversation with an enquiry into the notification of the Gardiners. Elizabeth explained about sending a note to London, and informed her that the Bennets expected their arrival within the week.

"I dare say it shall be a great comfort to you to have them close," Charlotte noted with the greatest empathy. "Mr. Collins, I daresay that it may become quite chaotic here at Longbourn upon their arrival. While I am sure that you must wish to be near to your cousins during this dreadful time, I wonder whether you might consider removing to Lucas Lodge for the remainder of your stay? My father, Sir William, was very interested in furthering your acquaintance. While I should hate to do so at the expense of my friends, I am sure that the Gardiners are more than capable of assisting them in their time of need. I am sure Lady Catherine would agree that you have done more than your duty already."

If Mr. Collins had seemed slightly sceptical at the beginning of her offer, he was more than happily convinced by the end. Flattered, he accepted with all of his usual effusions of loyalty to the inane desires of Lady Catherine de Bourgh and his desire to be a gracious guest to his hosts and their neighbours. Elizabeth hid a grin behind her hand, and Jane rose to inform Mrs. Hill to have his things readied for his departure. Mr. Collins followed, muttering something about his waistcoats being packed in such-and-such particular way as specified by Lady Catherine in her infinite wisdom and her vast experience in the packing of men's waistcoats.

Upon his departure, Charlotte and Elizabeth shared a sly smile.

"Charlotte, that was positively devious!" Elizabeth declared, eyes sparkling at last with her former humour.

"Anything for you, Lizzy," she said, offering her a wan smile. "While he is gone, for it may not be long, my mother wanted to know if you had put any thought into the funeral? And the mourning rings?"

Elizabeth's smile dimmed. "Hardly. It has all happened so quickly…"

"Would you allow me, please, to see to your mourning rings? For the family? My mother knows an excellent jeweller who works with hair pieces – and there is so little we can truly do to help."

"Oh, Charlotte…"

"Truly, Lizzy, I wish I could do more. I cannot even dream … I can hardly imagine the feelings of your family. At least allow me to remove one or two items of stress."

Much as Elizabeth wished to protest such generosity, she could already feel some of the weight lifting off of her shoulders. It was too much, and yet just what was needed, and Elizabeth recalled again the value of true friendship in a time of supreme need.

"Thank you, Charlotte," Elizabeth relented with honest gratitude. "On behalf of my family, thank you. You are too generous, but I know better than to trifle with the most determined woman in Hertfordshire. Thank you. Truly."

When Jane returned, it was to inform them that Mr. Collins and his trunks were in the vestibule waiting for the carriage, which was to transport them home. Charlotte exchanged a warm embrace with Jane, whispering a few words of comfort and encouragement, before pulling Maria away from Kitty. The Bennet sisters followed their friends through the vestibule and waved as Charlotte, Maria, and their footman disappeared into the distance with Mr. Collins and his luggage in tow.

Elizabeth thanked God for the enormous blessing of friendship. For Charlotte to step in to relieve a burden which, in Charlotte's mind, may not seem like a burden at all – that empathy, and that generosity, was only a fraction of what made Charlotte so valuable as a friend. She prayed that someday her friend would be rewarded with a happy marriage, rather than the practical marriage she expected. If anyone deserved it, Charlotte did.

* * *

Madeleine Gardiner was not accustomed to attempting to suss out the intentions of a possible suitor – at least, not when it was for her niece rather than herself! She was out of practice – with her eldest daughter now nearly nine years old, it had been a long time since the practice of courtship had been a relevant interest. She usually left such considerations to her nieces and merely lent an understanding ear when they needed to confide in someone who would not immediately jump to conclusions regarding the wealth and status of those suitors. Now, however, Mrs. Gardiner found herself watching one Mr. Charles Bingley with heretofore unparalleled interest. Was Jane in love with this man?

There was much to be admired, of course – while not the most handsome man Mrs. Gardiner had ever seen, he certainly was not dreadful to look at. His carriage and horses were of high quality, as well as his clothes. He seemed anxious to be back to Hertfordshire – when he had arrived this afternoon, he had been jumpy and nervous, and he was constantly riding ahead of the carriage only to return and then ride ahead once again. He was polite, and he was thoughtful – the carriage had been well-stocked for their comfort in advance, even to the inclusion of hot bricks and child-sized blankets. From what Mrs. Gardiner could gather, he had come to London on business only the day before. Upon learning of the murder, Mr. Bingley had been eager to be on his way back after finishing up his most important business matters. To Mrs. Gardiner, this suggested a man that was responsible with both his estate and those important to him. All in all, quite a creditable report.

Mrs. Gardiner was quite eager to see Jane and get an idea of how _she_ felt about the matter. The man's feelings were apparent, Elizabeth's opinion was likewise transparent, but Jane's had always been tricky to pin down. Jane, sweet soul that she was, never allowed her feelings to break the surface when she could help it. In truth, it was Jane for whom Mrs. Gardiner worried the most in the wake of this tragedy. Kitty, although attached to Lydia, was strong. Mrs. Bennet had her daughters to live for. Elizabeth was a pillar of strength. Mr. Bennet was blasé. Mary was never very close to Lydia. Jane … Jane felt very deeply, and she buried those feelings so deeply that they were sometimes impossible to reach, much less understand. Not to mention the way that she constantly put the needs of others before her own – Jane would work and comfort and keep herself so occupied in helping others that she would hardly even acknowledge her own feelings. Having known Jane for the past ten years, it was easy to predict how she would cope – pushing her own feelings aside to care for others. Perhaps … perhaps, Mrs. Gardiner thought, Mr. Bingley could change that.

As the carriage left the outskirts of Meryton, Mrs. Gardiner nudged the children awake.

"Now, remember what we spoke of at home, children," Mrs. Gardiner reminded her offspring, straightening jackets and smoothing silky hair. "Our cousins are going to be very sad right now because Lydia is gone. We are coming to cheer them and to help them. They might be very busy, and they might not have time to play, but that is only because there is a lot to do, not because they are upset with you."

A few quick reminders about manners in company, and then they had arrived. It was a few hours past noon when they arrived, and all four Bennet sisters met them before they had even alighted the carriage. At first the pure excitement of the realization that the Gardiners had arrived was enough to cheer them and draw them out of doors – the realization that Mr. Bingley accompanied them was another matter entirely.

Jane, stunned, paused upon the step and fell back against a column with wide eyes and a hand over her quick-beating heart. Her eyes followed his form avidly.

Mr. Gardiner alighted first, greeting his nieces with a kiss each before turning to assist his children down from the carriage. Meg and Lottie each did their best to be as lady-like as possible, although they lost their composure completely when captured in a riotous hug by first Kitty and then Elizabeth. Freddy and Benny had no such compunctions to begin with – they jumped down from the carriage with broad grins stretching their freckled cheeks and attacked the cousins nearest them with the relentless fervour of young boys who had been cooped up in a carriage all afternoon. Freddy, at four years old, was a mischievous child with a chatter to rival any jaybird. Benny, two years his junior, was quieter but attached himself to his favourites with unremitting adoration. Jane being the generally agreed upon favourite, she soon found herself belaboured with the weight of a small toddler.

Even as she lifted him into her arms, however, her strength nearly left her when her eyes met Mr. Bingley's. She adjusted her grip on the child, turning her attention to the small boy in her arms rather than the handsome man in her front garden.

Watching them carefully, Mrs. Gardiner couldn't help smiling. Yes, Jane Bennet was in love indeed! It seemed, unfortunately, that Mr. Bingley was entirely unaware of the fact. He still appeared anxious - fiddling with his gloves and riding crop and hat, darting glances in Jane's direction even whilst occupied in greeting the Bennets and offering condolences. Poor man.

It seemed like an eternity for all involved before Mr. Bingley stood in front of Jane, hat, gloves, and riding crop in hand, eyes searching her face intently. Mrs. Gardiner watched discreetly from a distance, nominally trying to get the children back in order to go inside for tea.

"Miss Bennet," he said, offering a quick bow to her curtsy.

"Mr. Bingley." Jane's voice was surprisingly steady – only a very slight quiver on the last syllable gave away her disturbed spirit.

"Please allow me to offer my most sincere condolences," he said earnestly. His hands twitched, as though wanting to reach out and grasp her hands in his own.

"Thank you."

"I also wish … that is to say, I feel that … hem, I understand that my sister wrote a note to you explaining the … swift absence … of our party," he stammered, wringing his gloves between his hands. Jane clutched Benny tighter to her shoulder.

"Yes, she did."

"I should like … that is, I, uh, I don't know what she wrote," he admitted bashfully, "but I should wish you to know that I only planned to be in London for a few days. I did not expect the arrival of my party in town, nor did I give orders to close Netherfield. When I heard of your … news … I came back as quickly as I possibly could. I am a man inclined to do things quickly when I do them, but … well, in short, I am sorry to have been away during a time of such distress for you … and your family. Of course. And if there is any way that I can be of assistance to you and your family, I should be delighted to do it."

His stammering speech, delivered with many a flushed cheek and shifting feet, elicited a bashful smile from the object of his affection.

"Thank you, sir," Jane said, with rather more warmth than she had first thanked him. "I'm sure my family will be grateful for whatever assistance you would be willing to give."

"Mr. Bingley!" Mr. Gardiner called out to get his attention from the doorway. "I am going to see Mr. Bennet – you had mentioned you would like to join me?"

"Yes, sir!" Mr. Bingley called back, his face darkening seriously. He gave Jane another small bow, she responded with a small curtsy, and the men disappeared into the darker doorway.

"I am so sorry – we've been keeping you out here in the cold! Come in, come in – you'll want to refresh yourselves after the journey, I'm sure, and then you must come down and warm yourselves by the fire. I'll order tea," Elizabeth said, directing the group towards the house. She took Mrs. Gardiner's arm, and the two walked in together while Kitty, Mary, and Jane shepherded the children indoors.

"Looks like things between Jane and her Mr. Bingley are well in hand," Mrs. Gardiner noted with a raised eyebrow.

Elizabeth smiled. "It speaks very well of him that he returned so quickly after hearing of our situation. We had thought him to be in town for the rest of the season."

"Really? Hmm. Well, he certainly is here now, and looks to be for the foreseeable future."

"I certainly hope so," Elizabeth whispered with a conspiratorial grin.

They parted ways at the staircase – Mrs. Gardiner taking the children above stairs to change out of their traveling clothes, and Elizabeth heading to the kitchen to request tea in the parlour for the Gardiners. To be rid of Mr. Collins and joined by the Gardiners in the same day … truly, there were blessings even in the greatest trouble. Elizabeth went about seeing to tea with a bit more of the usual bounce in her step – somehow, everything seemed more manageable than it had in the morning.


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight

_They parted ways at the staircase – Mrs. Gardiner taking the children above stairs to change out of their traveling clothes, and Elizabeth heading to the kitchen to request tea in the parlour for the Gardiners. To be rid of Mr. Collins and joined by the Gardiners in the same day … truly, there were blessings even in the greatest trouble. Elizabeth went about seeing to tea with a bit more of the usual bounce in her step – somehow, everything seemed more manageable than it had in the morning._

Mr. Bennet was in his favourite chair by the fire with a glass of port and his head in his hands when a knock came upon the door.

"Mr. Gardiner and Mr. Bingley, sir," Mrs. Hill announced.

Eyebrows raised at the interesting combination of names, Mr. Bennet gestured for them to enter. Mrs. Hill shut the door on her way out, and Mr. Bennet stood to greet them.

"Edward," Mr. Bennet greeted his brother-in-law warmly, "and Mr. Bingley, what a surprise! We were under the impression that Netherfield was closed for the season."

Mr. Bingley blushed but stood straight under scrutiny. "Sir. My deepest condolences on the loss of Miss Lydia, on behalf of myself and my sisters."

"Thank you, Mr. Bingley. Are we to expect your presence in Hertfordshire for the remainder of the season, or will you be returning to London post-haste?"

"I expect to be at Netherfield for the foreseeable future," Mr. Bingley assured him.

Mr. Bennet allowed himself a sceptical expression before turning to greet Mr. Gardiner properly.

"Edward, you have made excellent time," he observed.

"You have Mr. Bingley to thank for that, Thomas," Mr. Gardiner noted gratefully. "'Twas a servant of Bingley's who delivered Elizabeth's letter, enclosed in the same letter from Mr. Bingley which offered his services to transport our family to Longbourn immediately. He has been most accommodating."

Mr. Bennet's surprise was momentary. It seemed, then, that Mr. Bingley was in earnest. Mr. Bennet mentally repealed his words of the previous day, condemning Mr. Bingley for disappointing the hopes of his eldest daughter. It was evident that Mr. Bingley fully intended to make amends for whatever damage had been made against his relationship with the Bennets in the past four and twenty hours. Mr. Bennet had not truly considered how serious this young man may be about his daughter – but perhaps it was for the best. It certainly might bring a bit more cheer to Jane's gloomy face.

How very interesting.

"Now, to business, Thomas," Mr. Gardiner began again, his expression very grave. "What has been done? Where is Lydia's body? Have they found the man?"

Mr. Bennet sighed heavily and eased himself into his chair again.

"Help yourself to some brandy or port and have a seat, gentlemen. This is not a topic to be borne standing."

The two men did his bidding, helping themselves to a drink and finding suitable seating for themselves. Once they had settled, they looked to Mr. Bennet expectantly.

"I do not know how much Lizzy wrote to you, so I shall begin at the start," Mr. Bennet began wearily. He took a sip of port to steady himself before continuing. "Yesterday morning, I was enjoying my library by myself (for, you may remember, we had all been out quite late at the ball and the rest of the house was still abed) when I heard footsteps on the stair – around eight o'clock, I'd say. I expected it to be Lizzy out for her morning walk, so I thought nothing of it. Later Lizzy came downstairs to borrow a book, and I asked about her walk – she said that she had done nothing of the kind that morning. I thought nothing of it. I supposed I must have imagined the footsteps, as I was so used to hearing them.

"When we all gathered for breakfast, Kitty and Mrs. Bennet remarked upon Lydia's absence. I deduced that she had walked to Meryton – which, although not highly commendable to take such a venture to town without a companion, was not an altogether alarming concept. Mrs. Hill sent a boy towards Meryton to fetch her.

"As we were finishing breakfast, the boy came back and informed us that Lydia had been killed. 'Murdered,' he said."

Mr. Bennet paused here to take a moment, composing himself once again as he relived the memories of the previous day. Mr. Gardiner had rested his forehead against his hand, watching Mr. Bennet with sombre eyes. Mr. Bingley was watching his glass of port.

"I went down to Farley's Grove, which is about halfway between here and Meryton. Lydia was … well," Mr. Bennet stopped, unable to bring himself to describe the body of his youngest child upon her death. "It was apparent that she had been … forcibly compromised … and it seems as though her head had hit upon a rock – or a rock had hit upon her head – during the … encounter. There was nothing else to gather from the scene – Sir William came, and we organized a search of the woods in the surrounding area. Mr. Philips and Colonel Forster organized a search in Meryton – Colonel Forster was kind enough to loan a number of his men for the occasion, both in Meryton and in the woods.

"Her … body … was sent to Meryton for further examination by the apothecary, although I expect it will be returned to us … shortly. Sir William, of course, is leading the investigation as the local magistrate. I have heard nothing since."

The two men sat in silence for a few minutes, absorbing the information which Mr. Bennet had just related. The men alternated between sipping their drinks, staring off into the distance, and putting their heads in their hands.

"Have the funeral arrangements been made?" Mr. Gardiner asked quietly.

Mr. Bennet opened his mouth to answer, but the word _funeral_ plucked a few heartstrings which had not yet been tuned to the idea of Lydia's death and the resulting off-key tone resonated within his already tight chest. He snapped his mouth shut and turned his eyes towards the fire, breathing deeply to keep the tears at bay. He shook his head.

"I can speak with the vicar tonight," Bingley offered. "He is on my way back to Netherfield. If Mrs. Gardiner and the Misses Bennet are willing to arrange the other funeral matters…"

"I will speak to Madeleine," Gardiner agreed. "I'm sure it will not be a problem. We should also speak to Sir William and Colonel Forster to discover how the investigation has progressed. Surely they will have found something by now! Has the possibility of highwaymen been considered?"

Mr. Bennet shook his head. "We are too far from the main roads. The primary route to London goes through St. Albans – the chances of seeing highwaymen out here are slim. No, I'm afraid it must have been a man in our own community. Meryton, or the near vicinity."

"What a dreadful thing," Bingley muttered, shaking his head mournfully and swirling the remains of his drink in the glass. "To think that a man of Meryton …! And a gentleman's daughter!"

"Yes, a gentleman's daughter."

Mr. Bennet's words were bitter, but before either Mr. Gardiner or Mr. Bingley could question him further, Mrs. Hill announced the arrival of Sir William and Colonel Forster. The men stood to greet the newcomers. Once all were introduced and greeted, the men sat down – all except for Colonel Forster, who stood by the mantle with a grim expression on his face.

"We took the liberty," Sir William said wearily, "of bringing your daughter's body back to you. She is being attended by your servants."

Mr. Bennet nodded stiffly.

"And the investigation?"

Colonel Forster inclined his head towards Mr. Bennet in acknowledgement. "Sir, we have made some headway. Highwaymen have, as expected, been completely ruled out. I have been conducting interviews of my men, and asking anyone with information to come forward. Thus far, I have had multiple men come forward with three particular names: Pratt, Wickham, and Carter. They are rumoured to have had much interaction with Miss Lydia, and a keen interest in her … person. Wickham is on the bottom of my list – he is only just returned from town. I have asked some friends in London to confirm his whereabouts, but … in truth, he has always given every appearance of amiability and gentility. I gather he was raised in quite a gentlemanly fashion before coming upon hard times. My eyes have returned, however, again and again to Pratt and Carter. Several of the men have mentioned that Carter was particularly interested in Miss Lydia, quite enamoured, and … multitudes of the men have mentioned that Pratt has a habit when drunk of … bragging … about previous … conquests. A few men have lead me to believe that these encounters did not sound completely consensual."

Mr. Bingley looked ill, and stood to look out the window. Mr. Bennet put his head in his hands with a sigh.

"What is being done?"

"Pratt, Carter, and Wickham are being detained until their whereabouts for that morning can be determined. I am planning to question them this evening, and wondered if any of you would like to be present at the time."

Mr. Bennet changed the direction of the conversation.

"And the townspeople? Are they being questioned?"

Sir William cleared his throat with a self-important air. "Indeed! I shall begin such investigations early tomorrow morning. I have issued a request that any and all villagers with information regarding Miss Lydia should please come forward. It may take quite a while, however, as there are a good many people to question. And on that note…"

Sir William leaned forward, eyeing Mr. Bingley's back where he stood at the window.

"Mr. Bingley, is your friend Mr. Darcy planning to return to town in the near future?"

Mr. Bingley turned, shocked and not hiding it well. "I beg your pardon?"

Sir William flushed at the way that Mr. Bingley clearly took offense.

"Now, Mr. Bingley, he was a person in the area on the morn of the murder. I do not mean to imply that he is in any way responsible - I should merely like to know if he has any information which may contribute to the investigation. He may have noticed something at the Ball, seen something in town, or perhaps he saw something alongside the road on his way out of town. We must pursue all possible avenues, Mr. Bingley, I'm sure you understand."

Mr. Bingley stood stiffly, but relaxed his expression.

"I shall write to him of your request," he offered with a quick, sharp bow of assent. Sir William flushed even more and looked ready to stammer out further explanation, but Mr. Bingley cut him off with an address to Colonel Forster.

"Colonel, I wonder if I might join you in questioning Pratt, Carter, and Wickham?"

Colonel Forster bowed. "Certainly, Mr. Bingley. Whenever is most convenient."

"You had mentioned tonight, and that is perfectly amenable for me. I do have some matters of business to conduct at Netherfield. Would seven o'clock be acceptable?"

"Perfectly, sir."

"Excellent. In which case, begging your pardon, sirs, I believe I should be on my way. If I am to meet with the vicar and complete my affairs at Netherfield before seven o'clock, I must make the most of the hour. I beg you to keep me informed and to let me know if I can be of assistance in any way."

Mr. Bennet agreed, standing up and shaking Mr. Bingley's hand. The other men also stood to shake his hand, and then Mr. Bingley showed himself out with rapid steps.

Within a few minutes of Bingley's departure, it was decided that Mr. Gardiner would help Sir William interview villagers on the morrow and the men went their own ways; Colonel Forster and Sir William returned to Meryton, Mr. Gardiner dismissed himself to refresh from his travels, and Mr. Bennet returned to his glass of port. Somehow, even after all of that, he was still discontent.

But what more could be done?


	9. Chapter 9

Chapter Nine

_Within a few minutes of Bingley's departure, it was decided that Mr. Gardiner would help Sir William interview villagers on the morrow and the men went their own ways; Colonel Forster and Sir William returned to Meryton, Mr. Gardiner dismissed himself to refresh from his travels, and Mr. Bennet returned to his glass of port. Somehow, even after all of that, he was still discontent. _

_But what more could be done?_

Lydia was here.

Upstairs.

Lydia's body was upstairs, lying in her bed.

Well, so Mary assumed. She doubted they would put her anywhere else.

She had seen the cart come in with Colonel Forster and Sir William. She had immediately retreated from the window. She had listened as Colonel Forster and Sir William had announced themselves, asked to see Mr. Bennet, and informed Mr. Hill that Miss Lydia's body could be found in the cart outside. She had listened to Mrs. Hill announcing the men in the study. She had listened to Mr. Hill's footsteps on the stairs, staggering in time with another step of footsteps – probably one of the footmen – undoubtedly carrying the body upstairs. She heard a door open, and close, and then footsteps on the stairs again.

The house was too quiet. It was eerie. Elizabeth and Jane were observing the addition of black crepe to the front of the house while they waited for the Gardiners to refresh themselves, and Mary had no idea where Kitty was – probably with the Gardiners, attending to the children. Mrs. Bennet had yet to make a sound. It was too quiet.

A part of her wanted to go upstairs and see Lydia. Perhaps she could take a moment with her sister to apologize, to make amends, and … well, no. No.

The idea of seeing the loudest character in the Bennet household lying in silent state …

No. The house was quiet enough.

* * *

Lydia was here.

Once Colonel Forster and Sir William had disappeared into the house, Mr. Hill and the footman had come outside to bear the body upstairs. Elizabeth watched from the front lawn, where she was supposed to be observing the maids in the putting up of mourning crepe.

"A little lower," Jane directed Sarah, gesturing. "It's not quite even."

Sarah lowered the crepe as suggested.

Elizabeth stared at the door, now bedecked with a mourning wreath.

Should she go up and see her sister?

Charlotte had kindly volunteered to see to the mourning rings, but that meant that Elizabeth must acquire locks of Lydia's hair. That meant that Elizabeth would have to approach her sister – but not her sister. It was her sister's corpse.

It was so dreadfully saturnine that Elizabeth didn't know if she could face it. And yet, at the same time, there was a strong sense of morbid curiosity urging her onwards. Elizabeth had never seen a dead body before. Much as the idea of seeing the dead body her little sister repelled her … there was a certain academic, experiential interest in the endeavour. And, certainly, she could hardly ask one of her other sisters to accomplish the task! She supposed that it would not be out of the common way to ask one of the maids, or Mrs. Hill, to deal reverently with the task at hand, but somehow Elizabeth could not bear the thought of asking.

No, she would do it herself. Elizabeth had always been touted as the bravest and strongest of the Bennet sisters. Surely she could face her own sister's body. How scary could that be? Truly?

"Jane?" Elizabeth said quietly, putting a hand on her sister's elbow. "Are you alright out here?"

"Of course, Lizzy," Jane said, her smile a little bit too bright. "Go on – Sarah, Emma and I have this perfectly under control. Just a bit to the right! No, not too far! Just there!"

Seeing Jane well occupied, Elizabeth went into the house in search of her sewing scissors. She fetched them from her basket in the parlour, where she came upon Mary sitting at the piano with her head upon her folded arms leaning against the fall. Mary looked at her, and they exchanged a sympathetic glance, but Elizabeth gathered her scissors quietly and left her sister in peaceful contemplation.

The stairs creaked under her weight. The door swung open silently under her gentle touch, and Elizabeth took a deep breath before she crossed the threshold.

Her breath caught in her throat. Elizabeth put her hand to her mouth, stifling the ungodly noise which seemed determined to escape her throat. She leaned back against the open door and stared.

Lydia was laid out on the bed, that much was certainly expected. Elizabeth, however, had not considered that there had not yet been time to arrange the body into an appropriate state. Her dark, fine eyes were wide as they absorbed and catalogued the state of Lydia's body – mussed curls, torn and bloody clothing, dirt and leaves still hidden within her skirts and hair, her face bruised and littered with minor scrapes.

Elizabeth felt her knees go weak, and she put a hand against the doorknob to steady herself, breathing deeply. A part of her, she realized, had not fully absorbed Lydia's death. She had begun to grieve, certainly, but she had not truly realized just how … dead … her sister was. Her eyes were closed, but Elizabeth could not pretend that she was asleep. Even in sleep, Lydia was an active, restless girl – tossing, turning, babbling nonsense. She was still. In all of her life, Elizabeth had never seen her youngest sister be so completely still.

The state of her clothing, and the bruising around her face and neck, forced Elizabeth to remember, quite suddenly, that her sister had been brutally murdered. While she had been stricken with the idea of never seeing Lydia again, it was so much worse to see her so still and so battered. This, clearly, was the malicious work of a strong and violent man.

Who could do that? Lydia was a strong young lady – she was not prone to fainting and fluttering as many other girls were so inclined to do, but preferred to lead a boisterous, active, enthusiastic lifestyle of walking, riding, dancing, and chasing officers. Elizabeth knew, from her experience with several small tiffs between Kitty and Lydia, that Lydia was more likely to come out on the top of the fight than on the bottom. She started fights, and she also finished them. This was no demure, weak-willed, weak-bodied female – Lydia would fight back. Clearly she had, and clearly she had still been overpowered. It had to have been a man, and it had to have been a strong man.

But what man would attempt such a thing? Not only attempt it, but accomplish it, and then run away! Would he get away with it? Could he? Surely the conference of powerful men in her father's study would discover him and make him pay for his crimes! Surely!

Yet … what if they did not? What if they never found the man who had done this to her sister?

Elizabeth approached her sister and reached out a trembling hand to touch the girl's soft tresses.

Would Elizabeth and her sisters ever be able to walk the lanes of Hertfordshire in peace again? Would they ever again be able to assume safety over danger, to feel secure in their own country? When Elizabeth and Kitty had walked out yesterday, neither had considered such a thing – but somehow, seeing Lydia made it so much more real. These leaves had fallen from the trees which Elizabeth so admired on her daily walks, this dirt had crunched beneath her boots!

Elizabeth forced her trembling fingers to cooperate, lifting her scissors to her task. She carefully selected a few of the cleanest locks in places that were the least obvious to the casual observer, folded them in her handkerchief, and tucked them into her pocket. Task accomplished, Elizabeth could not draw herself away. She reached out and laid her hand gently upon Lydia's arm, only to withdraw it immediately in shock – she was cold, and stiff. This was not Lydia anymore.

At last, Elizabeth was overwhelmed. It was too much. It was entirely, wholly, completely too much. The ungodly sound which had earlier attempted to escape her throat finally broke free as she sank to her knees beside the bed and sobbed.

* * *

Lydia was here.

Kitty had watched from the upstairs window when she heard the horses pull the cart up the path, always attuned to the sounds of visitors arriving. Her attention had quickly been claimed, fortunately, by her young cousin Lottie, who had crawled into her lap very politely and began to admire the lace on her mourning gown.

She had heard the sounds of boots on the stairs, clearly those of the men carrying Lydia's body upstairs, but did not dwell on the fact – after all, Freddy so desperately wanted to tell her about the highwaymen he had encountered on the road from London, all of whom he had fended off very bravely with his sword. Kitty's attention was completely captured by the riveting tale, to which of course she must add the necessary _ooh_'s and _ah_'s.

It was not very long before Kitty heard the sounds of another set of footsteps on the stairs – lighter steps, those of a sister. She listened closely, heard nothing, and returned to assisting Benny with his tricky shoes.

It was only when she heard a high, keening wail that Kitty finally snapped out of the trance-like state of the old nursery and the beautiful Gardiner children.

"Stay here!" she instructed the children firmly, shutting the door behind her as she raced down the hall. She followed the sounds of gasping sobs to her own room – Lydia's room – where she found Elizabeth collapsed on the floor by the bed.

"Elizabeth! What – " and then she saw her. Lydia. On the bed, laid out in a morbid spectacle of leaves and dirt and bruises. "Oh, Lord!"

With her own cry, Kitty collapsed in the doorway, hand pressed to her own gasping mouth. She turned her face away, pressing her cheek against the cool frame of the doorway and facing the hallway, though her eyes were shut. She had meant to come and comfort her sister. She had meant to be a help. Instead, Kitty was once again overwhelmed by her own grief – paired with a serious shock and a good deal of horror. She curled up in the doorway and tried to regain herself.

She had never felt so sick in her entire life.

* * *

Lydia was here.

Jane had noticed the cart, same as Elizabeth. She knew. Was she interested in confronting such a thing at the moment? Not particularly. She let Elizabeth leave without much thought – of course, brave Lizzy would want to confront her fears as soon as possible. Not Jane. There was much to be done – hanging the crepe and wreathes outside, and then making sure that the tea was prepared and the fire stoked in preparation for a good long chat with the Gardiners. Additionally, there a few of their mourning gowns which had been dyed from old dresses which had been so hastily put back together that the trimming needed to be redone and the seams reassessed. They would be wearing these dresses for the foreseeable future – there was no sense in allowing them to fall apart just because the family was falling apart.

"Excellent, Sarah, Emma. That looks … very nice. Shall we just finish this last one?"

They certainly were falling apart. Kitty was a mess, and Mary was not much better – constantly lost in melancholic thought and reminisces of guilt. Father had hardly left his study, and Mother … she hadn't made a sound. It was so unlike her. Jane worried for her, but she hardly knew where to begin – with so much to be done, and so many distressing thoughts pressing in on all sides, it was almost a relief to not have to deal with her mother's hysterics.

"Be careful of the folds, there, Emma. Yes, that's right."

Jane chided herself for such an uncharitable thought, one of the many ugly thoughts which had infiltrated her safe haven. And yet, there were a few happy thoughts remaining – those thoughts which she clung to for dear life.

"Just a little bit to the left, and up a few inches."

First and foremost of these happy thoughts was Mr. Bingley. Her heart had nearly stopped this afternoon when she had seen him ride in with the Gardiners, looking every bit the handsome prince – excepting his rather dusty traveling coat, and his anxious fiddling, both of which were entirely endearing. His fumbling apology, so earnestly spoken, had completely done away with any misgivings Jane may have had after receiving Miss Bingley's note the day before. Practically engaged to Georgiana Darcy? Indeed! Why, then, would he be on her doorstep when there was business to complete in London? Why rush to her in her hour of need? Jane's modesty attempted to dismiss it as courtesy, or gentlemanly interest in his neighbour's grief, but her heart beat a heady tattoo which told her otherwise. No, Mr. Bingley had come back for her. He had. And Lord, what a happy thought!

"That's perfectly lovely – thank you, girls. Would you please go in and see to the tea for the Gardiners? And do be sure to have some of the biscuits for the children?"

Sarah and Emma curtsied happily and dashed into the house, both smiling at the thought of the Gardiner children arriving.

On their way into the house, they passed Mr. Bingley on his way out. Jane drew in a deep, shuddering breath of strange, irrepressible delight. Even in the midst of this dark hour, as she hung black crepe for her youngest sister, his face brought light and joy. Just a glimpse of his curls, mussed and dusty from traveling, sent her heart fluttering. She could not help but feel that she had not known the depth of her own feelings until she thought him lost forever, and now those feelings were inescapable and all-consuming.

"Miss Bennet," Mr. Bingley bowed courteously, approaching her hesitantly. He kept his distance as she curtsied, clearly trying to maintain propriety. His feet, however, seemed to inch forward of their own compulsion.

"Mr. Bingley," Jane replied in turn.

"Miss Bennet, please allow me to express again my … sincere regrets," he murmured bashfully, turning his hat over and over in his hands. "Not only for the death of your sister, but also for my absence at such a terrible time. I … I would not have you believe that I wished to be anywhere but here, at Longbourn – I mean, at Netherfield – that is to say, in Hertfordshire."

He blushed as he stumbled over his words, and Jane took heart in his evident desire to be present in their time of trouble – in her time of trouble. She tried to imagine that he was merely paying a compliment to her family, but her wicked heart would believe no such thing.

"Mr. Bingley, I-"

Jane's words were cut off by a high, keening wail coming from the house. Alarmed, Jane couldn't even speak to Mr. Bingley before she picked up her skirts and ran to the house. Perhaps it was unladylike, but Jane had an awful feeling that she knew who had made that sound, and the reason why.

Mr. Bingley followed her, clearly concerned. His footsteps were close behind her, and she felt his hand against her back as they raced up the stairs. If she would have had time to think about it, it would have ignited all sorts of fluttery emotions – as it was, however, she barely noted the light touch in the midst of her fear.

The first thing Jane saw was Kitty, collapsed in the doorway of her own bedroom, her hand moving to cover her eyes and allowing her mouth to finally open and gasp for breath. Jane rushed to her side, kneeling beside her and wrapping her arms around the girl. These days Kitty seemed so much younger than she used to be.

It was a moment before she realized that it was not Kitty's gasps she was still hearing. Peering over Kitty's shaking shoulder, Jane took a moment to take in the scene before her eyes. Elizabeth knelt by the side of the bed, her face buried into the coverlet as her whole body shook with sobs. Above her, laid out upon the bed, was Lydia's body – bruised, battered, dirty, and so very, very dead.

Jane looked down at the girl in her arms. She was nowhere near calm. Jane could not leave her. To have two sisters so distraught, and to only be able to help one!

Seeing her predicament, Mr. Bingley stepped in.

"Miss Bennet," he said quietly. "Please, allow me to assist you. Where is Miss Kitty's bedroom?"

Jane pointed to the door across the hall. Mr. Bingley removed Jane's arms from Kitty and gently lifted the girl to her feet, wrapping his own arm around her and supporting her weight as he guided her across the hall, being careful to leave the bedroom door open. Jane gratefully moved to Elizabeth's side, mimicking Mr. Bingley's actions by wrapping her arm around her sister and helping her to her feet. She carefully kept her eyes, and Elizabeth's eyes, trained on the door rather than the bed.

"Come, Lizzy, come," Jane begged her, not entirely sure how to handle the sobs of her strongest sister. "Come to bed. Come with me, dear."

On their way out, they came upon a throng of people in the hallway – while she and Mr. Bingley may have been the first to arrive, they were certainly not the last. The men downstairs had heard and come running, crowding the hall, in addition to Mrs. Gardiner, who was still adjusting her new gown. Perhaps most shockingly of all, and the reason why the men were frozen in the middle of the hallway, was the inclusion of Mrs. Bennet in the crowd, standing right outside the door.

Mrs. Bennet, in her nightclothes and dressing gown, stood barefooted in the hallway, staring into Lydia's bedroom with her eyes fixed on the dead body. Her expression seemed vacant until her eyes at last tore themselves away from Lydia and landed on Jane and Lizzy.

After a few long moments of staring at her two eldest daughters, her own walls seemed to crumble. Her eyes filled with tears, and she reached out her open arms to her girls.

"Oh, my babies," she whispered, her voice hoarse from disuse. "My poor darlings. Oh, my dears."

Mrs. Bennet wrapped her arms around her two eldest daughters, embracing them with more warmth than she had in … well, too many years to count.

* * *

Colonel Forster and Sir William quickly excused themselves, recognizing the moment as one deserving of privacy. Mr. Bingley, after a bit of shuffling feet waiting to see if Jane would need him, eventually also made his excuses and took his leave. Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner stood in the hall, arms around each other as they waited for the Bennet women to compose themselves, tears in their own eyes.

Mr. Bennet leaned against the wall in the hall, tears leaking from his own eyes. He had not seen Fanny so sincerely affected in … years. Truly. It touched him, seeing his wife reaching out to their daughters, as he had not been touched in years. It stunned him to realize that he could not remember the last time he had embraced one of his daughters. Were they really so badly off? Had they truly been so terrible?

He watched as Mr. and Mrs. Gardiner eventually stepped in, guiding the women from the threshold of Lydia's room and closing the door. Mr. Gardiner took Mrs. Bennet's arm, offering his support, and Mrs. Gardiner looped an arm through the elbows of each of the other girls. Together, the group trouped down the hall to Jane and Elizabeth's room. Mr. Bennet watched them go with a strange mixture of emotions – emotions he didn't even know how to name.

At last, he realized that he was not alone. He could hear the faint sounds of crying from the adjacent room. Peering in, he saw Kitty curled up on Mary's bed, weeping piteously. The sound was so terribly weak – the sound of a girl who has cried too much, too often, and doesn't have the strength within herself to cry any harder but can't stop herself crying at all.

Mr. Bennet stepped into the room and approached the bed, sitting down beside his daughter and putting a shaking hand on her shoulder. She looked up at him, and her eyes spoke more to him than so many folios – fear, sadness, regret, anger, desperation, loneliness.

Mr. Bennet pushed himself further onto the bed, leaning up against the backboard and opening his arms to his daughter, as he had seen his wife do for his two eldest daughters but a moment ago.

"Shall we cry together, Kit?" he asked quietly. Kitty hesitated, doubted, reconsidered, and finally allowed herself to be wrapped in her father's embrace – an unusual situation, to be sure. But somehow, as she let her salty tears drip onto his waistcoat and felt his own tears hit the top of her head and listened to his heart beating slowly beneath her ear, she felt more comforted than she had felt in a very long time. Weary from tears, Kitty slipped easily into a peaceful sleep upon her father's chest.

Mr. Bennet, allowing his own tears to continue their steady path down his wrinkled cheeks, sighed tiredly. He congratulated himself, briefly, and patted his daughter's back comfortingly.

Mr. Bennet had successfully braved his first foray into the world of intentionally affectionate parenting.

Why, in God's name, had it taken him so long?


	10. Chapter 10

Chapter Ten

"_Shall we cry together, Kit?" he asked quietly. Kitty hesitated, doubted, reconsidered, and finally allowed herself to be wrapped in her father's embrace – an unusual situation, to be sure. But somehow, as she let her salty tears drip onto his waistcoat and felt his own tears hit the top of her head and listened to his heart beating slowly beneath her ear, she felt more comforted than she had felt in a very long time. Weary from tears, Kitty slipped easily into a peaceful sleep upon her father's chest. _

_Mr. Bennet, allowing his own tears to continue their steady path down his wrinkled cheeks, sighed tiredly. He congratulated himself, briefly, and patted his daughter's back comfortingly._

_Mr. Bennet had successfully braved his first foray into the world of intentionally affectionate parenting._

_Why, in God's name, had it taken him so long?_

Who killed Lydia Bennet?

The question haunted Mr. Bingley more this evening than it had this afternoon, following him like a shadow as he gave his horse full rein on the main road to Netherfield from Meryton. Even the speed of his horse could not shake off the cobwebs of the evening's interrogations.

None of those men had done it.

Colonel Forster, of course, was hesitant to believe it. He felt responsible. He was sure that, in some way, the blame was to be put on the head of one of his men. The recent … discoveries … about the nature of those men certainly would give a man leave to doubt.

"_If you're looking for a man who likes to hurt women, you're looking in the wrong place! That's Pratt, not me! He's the one that likes it rough! Just ask him about Mary or Lucy – see how he pales!"_

"_Carter's a liar – ask any of the men. He can't even help it – you should hear the stories he spins for the ladies! So much a spider, spinning his web to trap the tasty morsels!"_

"_If anyone is untrustworthy, have a look at Wickham – the man's a fool, and he's indebted for more than he can pay. No doubt he was after Miss Lydia's dowry – if he compromised her, they would have to marry, and her dowry might pay off some debts." _

And yet, Mr. Bingley could not convince himself that any one of them had anything to do with it.

The men were reprobates, to be sure. Liars, undoubtedly. But in questioning them, Mr. Bingley had seen honesty in their eyes. The murder of a gentlewoman, no matter how young or foolish said gentlewoman happened to be, was taken very seriously. None of these men wanted to hang for something they didn't do.

Pratt, at first, seemed the most likely suspect. Several men had mentioned that he had a certain proclivity for female company that was rather less than consensual – the names Mary and Lucy had come up quite a few times, where men claimed he had bragged of his forced conquests while drunk, and Bingley shuddered to think of those unfortunate young ladies and what their fate might be. As for Miss Lydia?

"_Lord, a lovely bit o' lass! She would'ha' been right jolly – wish I'd had the chance! Is she dead? Really? If she's just been poked a bit, you know, I don't mind – I take 'em as they come. Even marry her, if you be wantin' a chap for that – she's always up for a laugh!"_

The man had been soused before being held for questioning, and apparently he hadn't gone into the interrogation room empty-handed. The rum bottle had been found in the far corner. The man was a drunkard and a villain, but he truly was not convinced that Lydia was dead at all – he had ranted about used goods and second-hand wares for a solid quarter of an hour before they had left him to it. One could only listen to such crude language for so long. It astonished Bingley, truly, to see such behaviour from a man who had danced and provided such excellent conversation at the Netherfield Ball only two nights past. While the man didn't have anyone to stand witness for his whereabouts on the morning after the ball, Bingley had an inkling that the man had been passed out in his bed for most of the morning. No. Repellent as Pratt certainly was, he was not the man who had murdered Lydia Bennet.

As for Carter? He also claimed to be asleep the morning after the ball. While he readily admitted that he had spent a great deal of time with Miss Lydia and Miss Kitty at the Phillips' card parties and escorted them around Meryton on multiple occasions, and even confessed that he believed himself to have been a great favourite until the arrival of Mr. Wickham, he had seemed genuinely concerned by her death. He called her a "lovely girl," if a bit "enthusiastic," and admitted taking enjoyment in her company. He also said, however, that he had long since been outstripped in her favour by Wickham, and he found that he preferred Miss Kitty's less rambunctious attitude. The militia officers had turned up a number of debts of honour, which Carter confessed were foolish but hardly evidence of murder. Bingley could hardly help agreeing. The man was not a saint, but there was no evidence of murder in his features or his activities.

Wickham. The man's name kept coming up, and they had questioned him intensely the night before. He was a devious man, without a doubt – he had a charming, roguish grin and a gilded tongue. The officers had reported a stack of debts a mile high, which was alarming in and of itself. Several young maids had come forward (through their fathers, of course) to make complaints about rather forward advances on their person – naturally, only coming forward after he had already been taken into custody. If anything, Wickham seemed the most likely man for the job. He was lascivious, untrustworthy, and had motive. Many people in Meryton had spoken against him.

And yet, his alibi seemed solid. He had not returned to Meryton until the search for the murderer had been concluded. While there was a chance that he had arrived earlier, killed Miss Lydia, and then disappeared until the search was complete to make an innocent reappearance in town later in the day … it seemed unlikely, at best. The journey from London, Bingley knew from recent experience, was not of a particularly short duration – perhaps a three hour ride if one pushed one's horse to the fullest extent of its ability. By carriage, it had taken closer to five. If he had left particularly early in the morning, it was possible, but probable? No.

At any rate, Colonel Forster had sent an express to London requesting the assistance of a few of his fellow officers in the verification of Wickham's story – a number of names and addresses had been provided. Hopefully there would be more information on the morrow.

Bingley sighed and reined in his horse as Netherfield drew into his field of vision through the treeline ahead. There was no need to arrive at Netherfield at such speed, alarming the staff when they were already so disconcerted by his seemingly whimsical decision to leave and then promptly return to Netherfield. It did, Bingley supposed, lend some credence to his ability to, as he had once insisted to Miss Elizabeth, be off in a moment if he so desired. His housekeeper, however, would not be particularly impressed. Mr. Darcy, mayhap, had the right of it there – hasty decision-making may not be a wholly admirable quality. Although, to be fair, it was not a decision he had made!

And that, he supposed, was rather the material point, wasn't it? He had not even been consulted on the matter. Did Darcy realize how hypocritical it was to criticize his friend for hasty departures and then to so quickly depart Hertfordshire, to the point of incivility? Although, that hadn't exactly been the point of that conversation … but Bingley could hardly remember what … well, did it really do to dwell on such matters?

Truthfully, Bingley wished that Darcy were here to help make sense of the situation. While Darcy's high-handedness was not always appreciated, there were times when it was indeed fitting and well-received. This would be one such occasion. Bingley knew that there was some sort of tiff between Darcy and Wickham, but he could not recall ever being informed of the particulars – did that argument have any bearing on the current matter?

Bingley dismounted his horse with a sigh, giving the horse a pat and the stable boy a nod before stretching his sore limbs – he felt as though he had spent the entire day on horseback! Cricking his neck with a wince, Bingley headed towards the house and a warm bath. An express had been sent to Darcy already – Bingley had made speedy use of Colonel Forster's desk – and Bingley only hoped that their disagreement would not keep him from returning to Hertfordshire. Whilst there was much to keep him in London (his sister, his business, their argument, and a general dislike of the population of Meryton to name a few), there was much at stake if he did not return: his reputation, their friendship, and perchance a murderer on the loose.

Mrs. Nicholls welcomed him back to Netherfield with an oddly wide smile; Mr. Bingley had been expecting at least some mild remonstrance - either for the short notice, or for his late arrival. Instead, Mrs. Nicholls assured him that all was taken care of – his trunks were already unpacked upstairs, and a hot bath would be in his chambers within the quarter hour, and would he take some refreshment?

Baffled, Mr. Bingley assented gratefully. He stood a moment in the hall, stunned.

Mrs. Nicholls was glad to see him back.

Mrs. Nicholls had been displeased by their speedy departure.

Mrs. Nicholls thought that he was doing the right thing.

Mr. Bingley couldn't help grinning. While the support of the housekeeper may, to some, be considered unnecessary or even superfluous, Mr. Bingley considered it a mark of particularly high esteem. He had found that, generally, housekeepers could be relied upon to have highly sensible advice. If Mrs. Nicholls supported him, perhaps standing up to Caroline and Louisa and Darcy would not be so terribly difficult after all.

With that happy thought to make his step lighter, Mr. Bingley ascended the stairs with great anticipation of an evening with refreshments, a hot bath, and memories of Jane Bennet to ease him into relaxation. For he could now recall with great pleasure the few moments they had shared this afternoon, and the markedly positive response he had received from her, with any number of shy, warm smiles, and the great help he had been able to be to her family …

Yes, despite the difficulties of a hard day of travel and rather gory business, thoughts of Jane Bennet were enough to make Mr. Bingley's evening seem decidedly less dreary. What is love, if not happiness in times of deepest trouble? What is love, indeed …?

* * *

Mary had watched them all come down to dinner with red eyes and freshly-washed faces with as much disinterest as she could manage. She had greeted her mother with equanimity. She had sat down to the table with grace, and she had managed most of her dinner with poise. When she had requested, very politely, for her mother to please pass the rolls, Mrs. Bennet had looked at her with such immense pain and such exquisite understanding that Mary felt she could no longer keep the composure she had been maintaining all day. She was not ready to face this yet. She could not. She dared not. But the one to break her composure would not be the same mother who had neglected and descried her middle daughter at every opportunity, lamenting her lack of beauty and accomplishments to the neighbourhood at large.

Mary took a deep breath, pasted a small smile on her face, and allowed the cold to creep into her eyes. She accepted the rolls, and returned very carefully to picking at her meal. Her dry mouth was not interested in enjoying her meal, but Mary kept feeding it, all the while allowing her heart to chill with the frost of many a lonely day.

She would face it tomorrow.

* * *

Jane stood at her bedroom window late that night, looking off in the direction of Netherfield – the hills of trees blocked her view completely, but her mind's eye saw past such measly barriers. She saw Mr. Bingley at Netherfield, sitting alone in the drawing room, tapping his foot with excess energy and then jumping to his feet to pace the floor. He picked up a book, put it down. Picked up the cards, put them down. Leaned against the mantelpiece, then began to pace again. The clock chimed the hour, and he looked forlornly about the room before heaving a sigh and turning his footsteps towards the stairs, reluctantly retiring in the absence of his friends to make conversation.

Jane dared not imagine further. Her heart sputtered within her chest. All day it had felt as though it were keeping an uneven beat. Everything had been thrown so completely off-kilter since Mr. Bingley's arrival. She was not herself. In spite of every logical reason why Mr. Bingley should return to the neighbourhood without any particular intentions toward herself, Jane nevertheless fully felt the compliment of his actions.

He had business in London, which he had expected to take a few days. He had come back after only one. There was hardly a chance that his business had been complete. His sisters and Mr. Darcy had followed him, closing up the house behind them. He had reopened it. Miss Bingley had strongly suggested an attachment to Miss Darcy, yet at first opportunity he had been at Longbourn – not only to deliver her relatives (chivalry in itself!), but also to offer his services in whatever manner was possible. He had sought her company directly twice over, even when perhaps he ought to have been making his courtesies to others, to attempt to explain his absence in her time of need and offer his assistance. He had raced up the stairs by her side, and he had tacitly understood her desire to help both of her sisters and assisted her in doing so.

Jane put a cold hand to her quick-beating heart, feeling her cheeks flame with unbidden knowledge.

Could he, possibly, love her?

Could Mr. Bingley truly, possibly, amazingly be in love with Miss Jane Bennet?

With little but her charms to recommend her, what had he found in her that called him to her side in her time of need at such great inconvenience to himself?

She had not allowed herself to consider such a thing – she had long since put such thoughts from her mind, not wanting to entertain hopes which may not be realized. She had waited for a sign from him.

Was this not a sign?

A part of her could not help chiding herself for considering such things when her sister had just been killed. Surely her grief should overflow and flood such thoughts from her mind! And yet, her heart and mind were brimming with gratitude, relief, and joy – for, in her darkest time, Mr. Bingley had appeared. He had appeared, and he had brought with him so much joy and light and hope that it could not be contained. Like a candle in a darkened room, his presence shone all the brighter in her heart for the darkness which surrounded them. In the light of day, perhaps she could put him from her mind. But in the dark of the night, he was as a beacon on a ridge – a sign of hope and salvation.

A knock on the bedpost startled Jane from her thoughts (Oh, Lord, she was becoming as melodramatic at Kitty and Lydia!), and she turned to smile at Elizabeth. Her favourite sister stood by the end of the bed, leaning against the bedpost, watching her with soft, sad eyes.

"Mr. Bingley's arrival was certainly fortuitous," Elizabeth remarked gently.

Jane blushed, turning away from the window completely. "Indeed."

"His behaviour today was exemplary in its chivalry."

"Yes, he was certainly every part the gentleman."

"He was very attentive."

"His manners were all that is appropriate."

"Oh, Jane!" Elizabeth laughed gently, taking her sister's hand and drawing her closer. "I am teasing! Truly, I am very happy for you. I am sure that not even you can deny that his actions, his attentions as he displayed them today, were all a very perfect compliment to you. Dearest Jane! Will you still deny his love? Your love? Even to me?"

Jane smiled and sat down on the bed, curling her cold toes up onto the bed as she pulled her knees tight against her chest. She could not help the warmth in her heart spilling over in her smile. Elizabeth sat beside her, resting her head on her shoulder.

"Oh, Lizzy!" she exclaimed happily. "Is it very wrong of me to be so perfectly happy? With all that has happened, I cannot help but feel that this joy is too great, too good for me!"

Elizabeth lifted her head and turned to face her sister seriously, her dark eyes locking with Jane's blue.

"Jane, darling Jane, nothing is too great or too good for you! There is no one in the world that deserves such happiness as you!" Elizabeth's quiet insistence was all that Jane needed, and she drew her sister into a warm embrace. Chins on shoulders, faces buried within each other's hair – it was a position well known and highly valued.

"Just please," Elizabeth added, as a rather serious afterthought, "do not leave me too soon. I do not think I can bear to lose another sister."


End file.
